


Rooftops

by Taybay14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Badass Dean, Binge Drinking, Bipolar Disorder, Blindfolds, Childhood abuse (in the past), Closeted Castiel (Supernatural), Dean thinks he's a top but he's really a needy bottom, Depression, Depressive Episode, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Face-Fucking, Flirting, Homophobic Language, I Prevail's music, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Manic Episode, Medications for mental illness, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Military Veteran Dean Winchester, Multiple Orgasms, Navy Dean Winchester, Needy Dean, Nightmares of war, Orgasm Control, Panty Kink, Past suicide Mary Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Rock Star AU, Rock Star Castiel (Supernatural), Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Security Guard Dean Winchester, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Tension, Shifting first person POV, Slight humiliation kink, Smut, Subdrop, Subspace, Suicide attempt was in the past, Switch Cas/Dean, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, anal-fingering, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 66,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taybay14/pseuds/Taybay14
Summary: After a suicide attempt the year before, Castiel Novak is back on tour with his band, trying to be happy despite the magnifying glass his team has on him. After a rebellious night, his team decides they need backup. It comes in the form of a hired body guard - someone to be with Castiel 24/7. Dean Winchester, a former Navy SEAL who prefers jobs that don't involve stuck-up, rich boy rock stars, but who could really use the money, accepts the contract. When he discovers Castiel's secret, a secret that hits a little too close to home for Dean, he has a decision to make. Push the boy away to keep his heart safe, or let himself fall and deal with the consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first year I've participated in DCBB & I have to say, I absolutely loved the experience. Working with Aggiedoll was like a dream <3 Her art went so well with this story and made me unbelievably happy. Make sure to check out her work! You won't be disappointed. 
> 
> *disclaimer: All music in this fic is NOT my own. I'm musically challenged, so I borrowed. The main band I borrowed from was the band I Prevail, as their music went the best with what I was trying to do with his fic. All rights to their songs go to them. I own none of it.*
> 
> You can listen to the Spotify Playlist that goes along with this fic here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10khFWbR12AXhX4HjqqSlw
> 
> * I tried to set it up in the order the songs appear in the fic, so fingers crossed it worked!
> 
> Thank you again! & enjoy the story (:

**Castiel**

From the alley behind the building, the vibrations in the arena are just tell-tale sounds of excitement. If I close my eyes, I can believe that it’s not a concert. Not an entire building full of people falling over themselves to see me. I try it, taking a drag from my cigarette before leaning my head against the brick building and closing my eyes. Holding the smoke in my lungs, I listen.

Shit. Nope. Can still hear them. Chanting my name. 

Someone should tell them that’s not the band’s name. It’s a tad rude to single me out. 

“Castiel, what the hell are you doing?” I open my eyes and tilt my head to the side, looking at my manager Naomi. I blow the smoke in her direction. Her eyes flare. “I told you to quit.”

“And I told you I’m not a fucking kid.”

She just shakes her head. “You’re on in five.” 

“Yup.”

Naomi stays in the doorway of the back entrance, staring straight at me. Arms crossed. Stupid clipboard against her chest. Eyebrows pulled in. Glaring. Pissed. 

“Castiel.” I don’t verbally answer, just take another drag and look over at her with an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re on in five.”

I blow the smoke. “Actually, probably like four now, hey?”

She’s not impressed with my math. I throw the cigarette down and grind it with the toe of my shoe. I walk past her without a word, and she thankfully doesn’t bitch at me further. She does follow me, though. All the way to my dressing room. She stands in the doorway while the stylist gives me a final once over. Then she follows me to the entrance of the stage. Watches as my earpiece is tinkered with. Watches as my drummer, Charlie Bradbury, comes up behind me and smacks my ass for good luck. Watches as someone hands me a shot of tequila and I take it. 

With that one, I make sure to give her a nice, big grin after. 

I wait until my band is set. Wait until my stage director gives me the nod. Knowing I’ll be on the stage any second makes the noise louder. I don’t mind it now, though. It’s the shit outside of the concerts I hate. Once I’m here, doing what I love, I’m good. 

The lights flash. The arena goes dark, besides the cell phone lights in the crowd. My band pauses for three beats, just enough time for me to jog to the center of the stage, then a spotlight hits me, and everyone freaks the fuck out. I put the mic to my mouth and begin. 

\----

The club music thrums beneath my skin as I take my fourth shot. Instead of using pickle juice or a lime, I just chase it with my vodka sprite instead. Chuck grabs my hand and pulls me out to the dance floor, the two of us grinning like idiots. 

We slipped Naomi’s stupid ass security team again. The opportunity was too good to pass up. The guy that runs our soundboard told Chuck that a new club had just opened in Seattle, and there was a rave tonight. Which was perfect. There was a black light, which meant body paint. Body paint meant face paint. Face paint, combined with copious amounts of alcohol, fog machines, and dark lighting, meant no one would recognize us. 

I can’t remember the last time I stood in the middle of a sea of people like this and got to just be Cas. Not Castiel Novak, world-famous songwriter and vocalist. Not Castiel Novak, the fuck-up who is seen in the magazines partying all the time. Not Castiel Novak, the secretly bipolar man who isn’t even supposed to drink. Not Castiel Novak, the closeted gay. 

Just Cas. 

Cas, who dances with Chuck’s ass against his front. Cas, who isn’t in the least bit interested in his best friend, but uses it as an open announcement to other gay men in the vicinity. Cas, who two songs later has a sexy blonde in his arms, all muscles, and facial hair, and smiles. 

Sexy blonde guy yells his name, but I can’t hear him over the music. I just nod and smile, then motion to the bar that I want a refill. He comes with me, putting a hand on my back, and offers to buy me my next drink. I tell the bartender what I want and let him pay, my mind focused on one thing only at this point. 

Where can I fuck this guy? 

Somewhere still dark, where he won’t figure out who I am, but somewhere private. Because if paparazzi find me partying again, Naomi will have my head, but if paparazzi finds me having sex with, or even kissing, a man? My career will be fucked. Over. Nonexistent. 

We head back to the dance floor, and the guy is all over me. I’m starting to feel dizzy, but I push the feeling off and focus on the task at hand. Between my medication and the amount of alcohol coursing through my veins, I know I don’t have long before I’ll get sick or pass out. That means I either need to hook up with this guy or get my ass in an uber real quick. 

The guy yells something, but I can’t hear him. He takes my hand, leading me down a back hall and into the bathroom. This club, thankfully, doesn’t flood the bathroom with fluorescent lighting to assault the patrons. It’s what could be described as more of a mood lighting. He pushes me into the first stall, and I’m already undoing my pants. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” he grunts when I take his cock in my hand the moment it’s free. 

“I didn’t tell it.”

He laughs. “I’m Jake.”

“Cool.” I lock my lips with him to keep him from talking. _Really, man, we’re hooking up in a fucking bathroom? Why bother with names? This isn’t going anywhere. _

My cock brushes against his, and he takes both of them in his big hand. It’s dry and doesn’t feel all that fantastic, and he’s going too slow. Frustrated, I pull away from his kiss and push him down to his knees. He takes me into his mouth without any prodding and I do a victory dance in my head. Now he can’t fucking talk, and this feels ten times better. 

Resting my head back against the wall, I tangle a hand in his hair and guide him. He’s enthusiastic, and it’s been weeks since I’ve even kissed a guy, so it doesn’t take him long to get me off. The release is exhilarating. 

The second he’s back on his feet, I take his cock in my hand and pump him. He groans and grabs my bicep, keeping me from pulling away. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, his cheeks rosy. I just focus on getting him off so I can get out of here. Now that my body is coming down from the orgasm high, I’m feeling weary and nauseous. 

A glob of spit and a few more strokes later, and he’s coming in my hand. I button my pants with my clean hand and go out to wash up in the sink. “So, still don’t know your name,” he says awkwardly, taking advantage while we’re still in the semi-quiet bathroom. 

I look at him with a ‘duh’ expression. “Still didn’t give it to ya.”

The darkness of the club sucks me back in. It’s so big, and I start to feel panicked that I won’t find Chuck in time to get out of here. I decide to turn my phone on, ignoring all the frantic messages from everyone in order to look if I have anything from Chuck. There’s nothing from him. I keep my phone on anyway, not caring if my security team tracks it. I’m ready to go back to the hotel, puke my guts out, and pass out. 

I head in the direction of the bar, scanning the crowd for Chuck as I walk. I find him halfway there, making out with a guy against the wall. 

Grabbing him by the back of the shirt, I yank him off the guy and yell in his ear, “I’m leavin’. You comin’ or stayin’?”

He looks at the guy, assessing his situation probably, then back at me. “I’ll come.” 

We head out of the club, and when I tell him I ordered an Uber, he laughs his ass off. I join him. In our drunken state, it’s fucking hilarious. We’re two rockstars about to take an uber to the hotel. 

“I didn’t even know you had an uber account.”

“I didn’t.” I wave my phone in his direction, still laughing. “Until now.”

“What name did you use?”

“Yours.”

He hits me in the chest and glares at me, but a smile keeps teasing his lips. “Naomi will kill us if we’re caught.”

“No offense, man, I love ya, but you aren’t a troublemaker, and you never talk in our interviews because you’re too damn stoned. No one besides die-hard fans are gonna know you, and if they were die-hard fans, they would be partying after our concert tonight, not driving an Uber.”

Impressed with my drunken logic, he shrugs and shakes his head, a silent ‘can’t argue with that.’ A car pulls up, and my phone tells me it’s our ride. The driver barely even looks at us. He gives us a quick blurb about there being water and snacks and plugs to charge my phone. Chuck and I look at each other in amazement. It’s like our usual ride, but better, because Naomi and the stupid stone-faced guards don’t know where we are. 

The driver is actually pretty cool. His name is Aberforth, which sucks ass, but at least he acknowledges that and can laugh at himself. We jam out to some Taylor Swift on the radio – my singing too slurred to recognize anyway. When he drops us off a few minutes later at our hotel, we give him half-hugs from the backseat and tell him a few times how much we love him, and how cool he is. 

He’s laughing when he drives away. I tip him a grand on my phone before slipping it back into my pocket. A few paparazzi are lingering in the parking lot, and they all focus immediately on us. With a case of the giggles, we scurry into the lobby before they can trap us, the doorman stopping them from following. They probably got a few good shots but nothing they can prove means anything scandalous. 

Mid-laugh, I choke and stop. There she is. The devil herself. Waiting at the front desk looking less than impressed. 

“Naomi. I missed you,” I call to her, arms out for a hug. 

She dodges me and starts walking away, knowing we’ll follow like little puppies. Honestly, I’m only following because I need to throw up, and she’s probably leading us to the band’s suite. Sure enough, we enter the elevator and she types in the code for the penthouse. Chuck slides down to the floor and puts his head in his hands, still laughing under his breath. It looks comfortable, but when I go to join him Naomi grabs my arm and keeps me on my feet. “I got you a separate room tonight, Castiel. Chuck, you go on to the suite.”

The traitor just leaves the elevator the moment the doors open, abandoning me. 

“Why my own room?” I try to ask, though I’m not sure how much actually comes out. My main focus is putting one foot in front of the other. 

“Because your band doesn’t need to deal with you like this.” 

“Ouch.”

If she hears that, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She opens the door to a room off at the end of the hall. Still a suite, but not as big. I don’t care. 

Passing two security guards, I stumble to the bathroom and throw up. The first two heaves don’t make it to the toilet. I skirt around the puddles and continue emptying my stomach into the toilet. The usual tremors kick in, though worse tonight, and my thoughts start to spiral. 

_Fight it, Cas. Fight the thoughts. It’s just you coming down. It’s not true. _

The words worm their way through my defenses. _Worthless. Faggot. Fuck-up. Alcoholic. Crazy. Asshole. Unwanted. Sissy. Hopeless. _

It’s my father’s voice. Always my father’s voice. The son of a bitch is dead to me, yet here he remains, in some sort of sick memorial track my brain likes to play. 

“You have to stop the drinking,” Naomi says. It’s what she always says. I know what she’ll say next. “It’s too dangerous with these meds.”

Yup. There it is. Now, my personal favorite. “How do you even expect these pills to help you if you don’t let them? If you just counteract them with booze and drugs?”

Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I look over at Naomi. With her pencil skirt and blouse and high heels. Her nice hair and pursed, red lips. Her giant ass rock for a wedding ring. “The fuck do you know ‘bout it?”

She sits on the edge of the tub and, for the first time, looks concerned. In fact, she looks ready to cry. 

Maybe this whole antipsychotic medication and alcohol thing isn’t a smart idea, because I must be going crazy if I think she cares. She cares about a paycheck. Not me.

Movement on the other side of me draws my attention. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus, my head too busy swimming in memories and booze, but the familiar features eventually register. My big brother Gabriel kneels beside me. He’s in the vomit, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. 

“Was worried about you baby brother.” Gabriel is the only one who could ever talk to me like that. Anyone else would get punched in the face at my worst, the middle finger at my best. 

“No worry. ‘M fine.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know that. You can’t just disappear.” He looks at me with his sad, brown puppy dog eyes. “Last time you did this...”

He doesn’t have to finish. Everyone in this room remembers. “It’s not an episode. I’m not manic.”

They just look at each other, clearly not believing me. It’s frustrating. I know I had a reckless night, but it’s not always fucking linked to my disorder. Normal people, especially rockstars, have nights like this.

“Cas, maybe we should stop the tour. Take a week or two. Get you some help,” Gabriel whispers. 

“Not goin’ to no more hospitals.”

Naomi tries next. “Why? That place helped you so much last summer.”

It did. I’ll give her that. White Pine Psych was hell the first week while they tried forcing my mind to come back from the edge. But then it was nice. I caught up on sleep. Ate three times a day. Met others that were like me. Others who couldn’t explain why some days they feel on top of the world and others they feel empty. Others who couldn’t give a logical reason why they were depressed, why they wanted to cut themselves or kill themselves, but just knew they wanted to. 

But I don’t want to go back. 

“I’m good.”

“It’s not an option, Cas. You need help. I talked to your therapist and-”

“Fuck that asshole.” I throw up again, this time losing enough energy where I can’t lift my head after. Instead, I rest it on the toilet seat and look at her. It’s cool against my cheek. It feels good. Maybe I’ll just sleep here. 

She shakes her head at me. “You have two options. You either stop the tour and get treatment, and get sober while you’re at it, or you stop this right now. Tonight is it. No more skirting security. No more binge drinking and drugs. Straight and narrow.”

Well, now, those two options just sound like total shit. 

I close my eyes and try to breathe so my mind can think properly. When I inhale the smell of my vomit, though, I gag. Nothing is left to come up, leaving me to do nothing but dry heave, painful lurches of my body that make me even more exhausted when they’re done. 

Gabriel helps me to my feet. I’m undressed to my boxers and he wipes my face clean with a cool cloth. I’m handed water. Naomi sits in the chair beside my bed with a blanket in her lap. She does that sometimes on nights like this. Sleeps next to me. I don’t know why. She could easily just have the guards watch me. It’s their jobs. 

Too tired to keep my eyes open, I let them drift shut. 

“I’ll be better,” I promise them, my breath hitching on the words. Then I start sobbing. Not because of the shitty end to my night. Not because I’m upset with them. Not because I hate both options.

But because I know I won’t be able to do it. Once again, I’ll prove my father right. 

_Failure. _

**Dean**

A pillow comes down on my head, waking me up from the first good sleep I’ve had in weeks. I don’t have to open my eyes to see who it is. Benny’s the only asshole I made the mistake of giving my key to. 

“Wake up, I have a job for you.” He hits me again. “Up.”

“You better have coffee,” I slur, pushing up to a half-sitting half-lying position. Opening one eye, I see that he’s holding out a to-go cup of coffee for me. 

I snatch it from him, taking a large gulp. It’s too hot, burning my mouth and throat, but the caffeine is glorious. “Am I forgiven?”

“No,” I grumble. Benny just laughs and sits on my desk chair, straddling it to face me. “What’s the job?”

“Hear me out,” he starts, hand in the air like he’s approaching a wild animal. 

I shake my head. “Oh, no. No no no. Nope. Whatever it is you wanna get my ass into, not happening.”

“1.2 million dollars. 1.2 million dollars for four months.” 

That gets my attention. “1.2 for the whole contract or 1.2 is my cut?”

“Your cut.”

“Fuck.” I take a drink of my coffee, processing that. It must be high profile, which he knows I don’t like with my security contracts. It must be dull, which he knows drives me insane. It must be safe, which is a fucking waste of my skills. 

But 1.2 million? That pays for Sammy’s college loans. Law school loans. Pays off the debt my mom left us. Maybe a house for myself. Then, I could put the rest in savings. Take the low budget or pro bono, high danger cases. The same kinds of cases I used to work for the government, only with fewer restrictions, and no one to tell me a person wasn’t important enough for my help. 

This person that can pay 1.2 million dollars probably believes they’re one of the most important people in the world. 

Fucking rich people. 

“Who is it?”

“Castiel Novak.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “You’re shittin’ me.” 

“I am not.”

“Damn.” Everyone knows who Castiel Novak is. The lead vocalist for The Fallen Angels. I prefer classic rock to present day rock, but rock and metal are still nice, and that kid has a damn good band. Their sound is the perfect mix of classic and new. The lyrics are full of meaning. Darkness. Things I’ve felt. 

But rockstars had security teams. Pretty much permanent security teams. Guys that would work with them for years on end. _So why Lafitte Security? And why only four months?_

“I feel like you’re leaving something out.” 

“You need to sign an NDA for the rest.”

I shrug a shoulder and down the rest of the coffee. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

\----

Five hours later, I’m on a plane to Seattle. It took me longer than usual to be convinced. The minute I saw Castiel’s medical record, I wanted to walk away. Benny had talked me into it, though. The asshole is highly skilled at doing that.

Apparently, Castiel Novak has made a deal with his team. He’s been reckless; drinking, drugs, partying, sneaking off, hooking up. This is his final chance before he’s booted off the tour. It’s time to shape up.

His team doesn’t trust him to take care of himself, so they hired me to be his personal 24/7 security guard. To keep him under control. Out of trouble. Focused. To take care of him – I’m meeting with his doctor to discuss ways to do that with his diagnosis, which is unnecessary because I already know. Who knew Castiel Novak was bipolar? No one. 

Not me. 

Bipolar 2, to be specific. The yin to my mom’s yang. _Fantastic. _

I can’t imagine how heavy of a weight that must be. I may think the kid is a dumbass, and I may think he’s spoiled and privileged, but I’ll give him that one thing. Fighting a daily battle like that is exhausting enough without keeping it secret. Without having to show a mask to the entire world. 

A war like that is very capable of killing you. I’ve seen it. 

When I get to the hotel I was given directions for, I’m met in the lobby by a middle-aged woman with a weak smile and a clipboard. She looks exhausted, and I nearly laugh. If she’s exhausted from taking care of this kid, it’s the perfect job for me. I barely sleep anyway. At least Castiel will keep me entertained. 

“Mr. Winchester, thank you for coming on such short notice.” 

“Just Dean, please,” he says as he reaches for her hand to shake it. “And no problem.”

She leads me to an elevator, not talking until we are inside and alone. Then she takes a gulp of air and dives in. “First off, I’m warning you that he is extremely skilled at giving security the slip. I know he promised to stop the drinking and the rest of his reckless behavior, but when he is in a certain mood, he doesn’t want to be around people. Including security. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He’s low today,” she says in a much softer, less business-like tone. “Very low.”

“Okay.”

“He doesn’t have to be anywhere until soundcheck at 5. Then he’s free again until the band goes on at 10. Preferably, he should be there for the opening act so we can go over anything last minute, but don’t push the issue.”

“Okay.” 

“He already took his meds for the day,” she takes out a bottle and hands them to me. They feel heavy in my palm. “You have to control them, at least until he steadies out. He likes to skip pills. Or, on days like today, take too many.”

My gut twists, and I clench my fist around the bottle. Mom’s blonde hair, floating amidst the bloody bathtub water, flashes at me. I tell the memory to fuck off and refocus, clearing my throat. “Has he done that before?”

The doors open and we’re dumped into a hall with only three doors. “Those are Castiel’s stories to tell. Just know that it’s a danger. Treat it seriously.”

“Of course.”

“The doctor will stop by soon, but for now, just let him sleep. Try to get him to drink some water. I doubt he’ll eat, but you can attempt that too if you’re feeling ambitious.”

I nod my head. There’s no reason to tell her I know how to do this already. There’s no reason to tell anyone. My history has nothing to do with this contract. 

Slipping the key card in, she opens the door slowly and enters the room. A guard gives me a head nod, and I do one back, quickly assessing him. He’s in dark jeans and a gray shirt. Castiel likes his guards to blend in. _Noted_. When I pass him, though, I see the outline of a gun at his waist. It’s a relief. I planned on carrying either way, but this takes the argument out of it. Some clients, for god knows what reason, try to fight me on having a gun on the job.

“Castiel?” Naomi coos into the darkness, not turning on any lights. The room is nearly pitch black, all the blackout curtains closed and lights shut off. The television is on, muted, so I can just barely make out his face. His curls are in every direction, eyes half-open. He meets her gaze to show that he’s acknowledging her but doesn’t speak. 

Pointing to me, she says, “This is Dean. The new guard we talked about.”

He looks at me, and life flashes in his eyes before they go dark again. Still no words. 

“Okay.” Naomi pats me on the shoulder. “You have my number if you need anything.”

When she leaves, the guard leaves with her. It’s just Castiel and me. In a hotel room, bigger than my apartment. No exaggeration. 

At least that means I have my own bed. I go to the empty bed in the other room that’s just separated by a half-wall that I can see over, throwing my duffel on it. I check my gun, remove my shoes, and grab the book I’m reading. Then I head back to his bed and pull up a chair, kicking my feet up on the heater box. 

A soft rustling sound from the bed catches my intention. I look up just in time to watch Castiel switch on the wall lamp that’s between us. His eyes meet mine, then flick to my book. 

Understanding, I tell him,” I have my phone for light if you don’t want that on. It’s okay for the room to stay dark.”

He just shakes his head no and turns over in the bed, wiggling further into his blanket cocoon and going still. I watch him for a half-hour before I start reading. Already, he’s not what I expected. Some people, when depressed, can be really fucking mean. I expected an irritated ockstar, bitching about wanting sleep and alone time. Bitching about me. I expected him to treat me like the nuisance he didn’t ask for. Instead, though, he just looked sad. Lonely. Vulnerable. 

So damn vulnerable. 

I wanted to pull him into my arms and hold him. Stroke his hair. Kiss his forehead. Read my book in a whisper, lulling him to sleep. 

My mind is screaming ABORT ABORT ABORT, but I stay where I am, staring at my book without reading the words. Already, I’m hooked. There’s no way in hell I’d hand over this contract to someone else. 

This one’s mine. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Castiel**

This ‘Dean Winchester’ isn’t like anyone I’ve hired before. He’s not cold and detached like my security team is. He’s not like Naomi though, either. He doesn’t hover and suffocate. He’s the perfect in-between. Close to Gabriel, but even better because I have no guilt over putting him through this hell like I do with my brother. It doesn’t affect him whether I’m manic, low, or leveled out. He just has to keep my ass alive and collect a paycheck.

All in all, I don’t mind the guy. My one complaint would be that he’s hard to place for me. Since he doesn’t fit with the guards or with Naomi, he floats in the abyss. He has this strong, stoic thing going, but when he smiles, it’s genuine and warm. He never tries to get me to talk or even interact, but he doesn’t pretend I’m not there either. He casually puts a glass of ice water beside me. Wordlessly offers me a banana when I walk by after a trip to the bathroom. I shiver once, and seconds later I hear him click the heater on high. 

I think that’s why it feels easier to swim out of the pool I’m drowning in today. Or, more accurately, stay afloat in it. There’s no pressure or expectations. There are no fragile smiles and careful ‘how are you feeling’s in cheery voices. 

Just a sexy man with a sincere smile who doesn’t need something from me. He’s not Gabriel, who needs me to be okay to keep his heart from breaking again. He’s not Naomi, who needs me to get my shit together, so she isn’t the manager of a nobody. He’s not the band, who needs me to write the songs, sing them, talk in most of the interviews, and deal with being the face of the group. He’s not a fan looking for fame or attention. Not paparazzi looking to make money off of my stupidity. Not a guy who wants to fuck me. 

Just Dean. 

Dean, who doesn’t say a word when I never eat the banana. Dean, who doesn’t guilt me into going to the venue early. Dean, who stays silent the entire car ride. A comfortable silence. An accepting silence. 

“Fifteen minutes,” someone yells with two sharp knocks on my dressing room door. I don’t even look in the direction of the noise. Instead, I stare at my reflection in the large wall mirror hanging above a countertop full of my stuff.

_Am I in an episode right now? Or is this just the after effects of the alcohol and pills. Am I numb or just exhausted? Is this serious like everyone is claiming? _

I hate that sometimes I can’t tell where my own mind is at. It’s only after that I see it clearly. After, where I can go, ‘oh, yeah, that was an episode.’ 

Sometimes I’m right, though. Sometimes I never come out of the episode because I was never in one. No one ever acknowledges this. If I’m wrong, I’m met with ‘I told you so’s and ‘you should listen to us more.’ But when I’m right? Everyone pretends they never accused me. God forbid I know my mind better than they do. God forbid I had a bad day or acted my age and had some fun for a change. I’m bipolar, so _clearly _those things can’t be anything but an episode. 

A hand wraps around mine, and I jump. Dean gives me a careful smile as he uncurls my fingers one by one until he can take the comb out of my hand. I had snapped a few of the teeth off. It wasn’t intentional. I hadn’t noticed. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, clasping my hands together in my lap. 

“Why?” He shrugs. “Ain’t my comb.”

He takes my hand again, turning it so he can see my palm. A calloused thumb skims across the skin before he lets go. He doesn’t speak, but I know he was checking if I hurt myself. 

“I got pissed for a second, I guess,” I admit. I don’t know why. I never talk about my feelings, unless they’re yanked from me. I’d much rather write a song and be done with it. 

Resting an elbow on the counter, he leans so he can see my actual face instead of looking at my reflection. “If you want, you can tell me why.”

“It doesn’t feel like I had an episode. Maybe, _maybe_, last night was the verge of one, but I was just having a bad day. I was crabby and tired and annoyed. I just wanted to have some fun. Now everyone’s pissed, and worried, and keeps reminding me that I don’t get that. I don’t get to just go be normal. Now they’re all saying I’m in an episode and I’m not. _I’m not._ I’m just overwhelmed and exhausted, but that happens to everyone.” I bury my head in my hands. “I’m not in an episode. I can’t be. I don’t- I don’t think I am. I don’t know. Maybe I am. Maybe they’re right. _Fuck_.”

Once again, his hands are on mine. He removes my fingers that are yanking at my curls, placing them on the counter. He doesn’t ask me to look at him or speak. As long as I’m not causing pain to myself, he won’t push. 

“Ten minutes!” the same person yells. 

I ignore them again. So does he. 

“What does your gut tell you?” he asks quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“You know your head better than them. I get that when you’re in an episode, it’s hard to use logic, especially when you’re manic. It’s hard to calm down enough to recognize it. Or to even care. But you’re sounding pretty logical to me. Pretty realistic. Of course you’re exhausted, and annoyed, and overwhelmed.” 

I have to fight to keep my jaw from dropping. _How did he do that? _

“You believe me?” 

“Yes. I do. If you say this isn’t an episode, I believe you.”

“Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Because I don’t know you, and I definitely don’t know you as well as you know you. And besides, what’s the harm in me believing you and you end up being wrong? Either way, I’m still trailing you everywhere. Either way, you’re taking your pills. Either way, you’re following the rules. If you start to feel like this is real, we go from there. For now? Fuck all of them. Let yourself feel whatever you want. I’ll be right here if ya need me.”

“Five minutes!” 

Dean takes a step back and gives me that same friendly smile he’s been giving me all day. “You ready?”

“More than I’ve been in a long time,” I admit. 

\---

I come off the stage breathless and grinning. The natural high from the show was all I needed to confirm my suspicions. Today wasn’t part of an episode. Today was just a bad fucking day. 

It’s better now. 

Gabe walks off the stage with Chuck by his side and Charlie behind. He pulls me into a side hug before going off to find the girl he was flirting with earlier, giving me his signature eyebrow wiggle that means he’s going to get laid. 

I stop Charlie and Chuck before they can bypass me. “What are you guys doing tonight?”

Both of them look guilty in an instant, and my heart sinks. _They’re going out. _“We got invited to the VIP at a club nearby. You could come? They guaranteed no paparazzi.” 

“I’m good.” I give them a tight smile, waving them off. “Go. Have fun.”

They both mumble apologies before hurrying off. I accidentally meet Dean’s eye. Once we lock gazes, I can’t look away. Someone takes my mic and earpiece, but I stay focused on him, moving forward the moment I’m free from the person messing with my equipment. 

“Good job out there,” he says with a grin, head tilted in the direction of the stage. 

“Thanks. I need to take some photos with fans, but then we can head out.” 

He nods and drops back a few steps, letting me slide in with the rest of my bandmates as we’re led to the fan VIP section of backstage. A guy in a neon green mohawk bellows when he sees me. Everyone else follows. 

Stamping down the panic I always feel when fans or paparazzi are coming at me, I paste on a smile. Gabe starts schmoozing. Charlie starts taking crazy photos. Chuck is signing an autograph. 

I focus on two teenage boys, probably sixteen or seventeen, who look ready to burst out of their bodies. Their eyes go wide as I approach. 

“Holy shit! You’re Castiel Novak.”

“Sure am. And you guys are?”

“Cody!”

“Keith!”

“Nice. Y’all from here?”

They nod enthusiastically. Cody all but screeches, “We have a band and we play your songs. You guys are great. And your lyrics are fucking awesome!”

Chuckling, I sign the back of their concert tickets they hand me. “That’s great. I’d love to hear ya sometime.”

“Really?” they ask in unison. 

“Yeah. For sure. What’s your band called?” 

“CK.” 

Fighting a smile, I say, “Sounds cool. I’ll check you guys out.”

We take a picture and then say goodbye. When I turn my back to them, they start talking rapidly to each other, tripping over themselves in excitement. I take out the pen I keep in my pocket at all times and scrawl on my arm: _CK Seattle Cody Keith. _

The next fan is a girl about my age, with boobs spilling out of her tank top. “Oh my god, Cas!”

I force myself to smile as she grabs at my shirt and tugs me close, pressing her boobs against me. I see Dean step closer in my peripheral vision, but he still remains in the background. Honestly, fans grab me all the time. That’s not what pisses me off. It’s her calling me ‘Cas’ like we’re intimate. I hate when fans feel like they have a piece of me. They don’t even know me. 

“_Lifelines_ is, like, my favorite song! Those lyrics are so emotional.” She strokes my chest, looking up at me seductively. My cock doesn’t even twitch. “I bet you’re a tortured artist.”

“Not really, but glad ya like the song,” I say with a forced laugh.

“What was the inspiration?” 

_Nice try, honey. No interviewer has ever gotten that from me. _“Do you want a photo? Autograph?”

“You could take me back to your dressing room.” She winks. “I’ll sign an NDA.”

This time, I can’t fight the sarcastic laugh. She does this often if she knows she’d have to sign that document. 

“I’ll have to pass. Thanks.”

After three more girl fans have groped or flirted or kissed my cheek or invited themselves to my dressing room, or any combination of those, I finally break away and decide I’ve interacted enough. 

The back door dumps us straight into a blocked-off alley, where my driver is waiting in a large, black SUV with tinted windows. I slide in, sensing Dean behind me. When I realize he’s not shutting the door and going to sit in the front passenger seat like all other guards, but instead sliding in beside me, I freeze. 

The air in here feels charged suddenly. Like if I breathe, I’ll blow the damn thing up. I take out my phone and pull up my twitter, trying to give myself something else to focus on besides Dean’s proximity. 

He clears his throat and I look over at him without meaning to. 

“You really gonna check out that band?” he asks. 

“Of course.” I show him my phone, where I actually just found the guys’ band page. They already uploaded the picture of me with them. 

He shakes his head. “You are _not _what I expected.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.” I sigh, typing out a message for my retweet of the photo of me with Cody and Keith. Then I follow their page and turn my phone screen off. 

This time, I see his hand coming before I feel it. He drags his thumb along my cheekbone three times, adding some pressure on the last one. When I meet his eye, he pulls his hand back like I burned him. “Lipstick.”

“Oh.” I wipe at my cheek in case there’s any left. “Yeah, there were a few rowdy ones tonight.”

“Where do you want me to draw the line on those?”

“What do you mean?”

He looks strange. His smile is gone, replaced with twisted lips and furrowed eyebrows. “As your security guard. When do you want me to step-in in those situations? Do you let them manhandle you like that?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was angry. But that can’t be right. “Honestly, it’s not a huge deal when it’s like that. But when it’s not controlled, like we get bombarded on the street or something, then I don’t want anyone touching me.”

“Noted.” He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. “And when you want to take them to your dressing room? Is that – Naomi didn’t mention any rules about that.”

“It won’t be a thing. No worries.”

“Noted.”

I look at the window, feeling restless. I’m hungry, and bored, and too wired to go to bed yet. We pull up to the hotel, and I get an idea. 

“Dean?” He looks up from his phone, one eyebrow raised. “Any chance you have a swimsuit?”

**Dean**

When we step onto the roof of the hotel, I immediately regret my decision to allow this. There’s an infinity pool off to the side, lounge chairs along one end of it. A round hot-tub comes off the edge of the pool, higher in the air by a few inches. It’s bubbling softly, steam swirling into the cool night air. As we approach it, I see that there’s even a fireplace with oversized chairs placed around it. There’s a bar too, but no one is working it this late. 

I thought I had been in nice hotels, but apparently not. This is the kind of shit you see in magazines. 

“Isn’t it a little late for the pool to be open?” I ask, scanning the empty area. 

“Yup.”

“Well, if it’s closed we really shouldn’t be here, sir.”

He chuckles. “They won’t come up here and bother us, trust me.”

“It’s my job to keep you from doing things like this.” 

He must tell from my tone that I’m already wavering on this. This day has been hard for him, and he’s doing well. Even I would be frustrated if I were him. No drinking. No clubbing with his friends. No sex, for whatever reason that I’ve yet to figure out. The least I can do is let him swim. 

Especially when he adds, “This is nothing compared to the other things I want to do. Trust me. I promise, we won’t get in trouble. As long as we aren’t rowdy and trash it, the manager won’t care.” 

I release a sigh and touch my gun where it’s resting in the waistband of my swim trunks. My shirt is covering it right now, but if I want to swim I’ll have to remove it. I’ll have to put my gun on one of the chairs or tables, too. 

That makes me nervous. 

“Come on,” Castiel goads, walking toward me with a teasing smile. “Live a little, Winchester.”

“It’s fine. Just be careful.” I eye the edge of the infinity pool. It sketches me out that it looks like he could just drift off the side of the fucking building. 

“Well that’s what you’re here for, right? To keep me safe?”

“Right.”

The grin he gives me is bordering on flirty, and I hate my body for reacting to it. I can’t blame it, though. He’s sex on a damn stick. Tall, lean, and toned. Milky white skin with ink twisting through it in every direction. Black hair as dark as the night sky above. Eyes as bright as the pool lit up beside us. 

Trying to get my boundaries back in place, I run through the contract in my head, reminding myself it’s a job. He is a job.

Nothing more than a job.

When I sit down on the nearest chair, I have myself convinced. Then he shakes his head and reaches out for me. My instincts are to flinch away, but right afterwards I correct the behavior by leaning toward him. He takes my hand and pulls. If I wanted to, I could stay sitting. I cooperate though, letting him guide me to my feet. 

His eyes stay on me as I reach for my shirt. I try not to feel nervous, because that’s just silly. I’ve faced many things in my life much scarier than Castiel Novak. But the way he’s watching me? Especially when I lift the shirt over my head, causing his eyes to roam and his tongue to dart out and lick his lips? I like it far too much.

Thankfully, the mood is quickly ruined when he spots the gun in my waistband. He takes a step back out of instinct. I know he allows his security to carry, I’ve seen it, but he’s clearly bothered by it. 

Slowly, so he doesn’t panic, I reach for the gun and take it out. He watches as I lift it in the air, so it’s pointed up at the sky. With my thumb, I tap the safety switch. “It’s on safety. I’m going to put it on the table, right here. Don’t touch it. Understood?”

He nods, eyes tracking the gun as I put it on the table. When I realize I’m no longer just seeing fear in his eyes, but also curiosity and maybe even a little interest, I immediately repeat myself. “Don’t touch it. Ever. Okay?”

“Yeah.” It takes a few seconds, but he finally manages to tear his gaze away from the weapon. When he’s focused back on me, it’s like he comes out of a trance. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” I force a tight smile, not wanting to point out what’s obvious. He just looked at my gun as a means to an end. His end. 

I’ll make damn sure he never has access to it. I don’t care if I have to sleep with the thing in my hands at night. 

He recovers before me. He does it well, too. If I didn’t know that he was just imagining putting that gun to his own head, I’d think he was completely fine. That smile is far too realistic. I’m going to have to be careful with that. Castiel is obviously skilled at pretending he’s okay. 

“Are you a burger, or a steak guy?” he asks suddenly. 

The switch in topic nearly gives me whiplash. “Uh, burger. Why?”

“No questions.”

“Why?”

“I just said no questions!” He rolls his eyes dramatically at me before shooting me a teasing smirk. “And because it’s more fun that way.”

I huff. “I have a feeling our definitions of fun are very different.”

This makes his smile slip a little. He pulls his phone out, fiddling with it anxiously. “The magazines and the news and everyone – they lie. I don’t do half the things they say. And the other half? One time situations. Or blown out of proportion. Or-”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Castiel.”

“But I want you to know that’s not me.”

“I already know that.” I move closer to him, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. “I’ve known for a while. It’s pretty obvious you’re not that guy.”

His smile is full of relief. I watch as his muscles relax, and his defenses fall away. For the first time tonight, I think I have him. The real Castiel. The one he clearly tries so hard to hide. 

Wanting to keep the ease of our conversation, I ask, “What do you do for fun, then?”

This makes him laugh. He turns away from me and walks toward the stairs of the pool. “What is fun anymore? It’s pretty much twenty-four-seven music. Add in an overbearing manager, moody bandmates, and a cramped tour bus.”

“I guess living the dream isn’t all that great then?”

“No. It is.” He steps into the water and raises one foot, swirling a toe like he’s testing the temperature. “I love what I do. It’s everything I ever wanted. I just wish I knew that it wasn’t something that can be switched off. It never stops. Now that I’m a famous musician, I don’t get to ever not be one. I dunno. That probably doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.” I join him on the stairs, taking another step into the pool when he does. Our bare shoulders brush, and I shiver even though it’s warm out tonight. “Would you have still done this, if you knew?”

“I think so. I can’t imagine doing anything else, ya know? Nothing ever came close to music.” He takes another step. I follow. “Maybe it would have been nice to at least know, though. To have a warning.”

I nod in understanding. It’s exactly how I felt about being a soldier. He suddenly dives into the pool, fully submerging himself, and I can’t help but smile. There’s something carefree about him right now. I want to keep it forever. 

I haven’t even known him for a full day yet, but I know one thing. 

This job is going to be more than just protection, and that makes this the most dangerous yet.

\----

For a while, the two of us just float in the water. It’s a peaceful silence. I find myself wondering how often he gets that. How often his life isn’t full of noise. Music. Fans. Managers. Security. That’s why I won’t be the one to speak first. He can have this as long as he wants. 

At some point, I get the feeling he’s looking at me. Just to check if I’m crazy, I turn my head to the side. Sure enough, there he is. A breath away. Staring right at me. His lips are wet, either from the water or his tongue, and they glisten in the lighting as he spreads them into a flirty smile. 

“Hey, there,” he whispers. 

“Hey.”

There’s a magic I start to feel surround us. Like we’re in a bubble. No outside world. No rules. It’s dangerous.

So. Damn. Dangerous.

“Did you like the show?” he asks softly. 

“Of course.”

“You sayin’ that as my guard, or as a person?”

I chuckle. “As a person. I’m actually a fan of you guys, to be honest.”

Something in him deflates, and he looks away from me. I watch as his eyebrows furrow. “Is that why you took the contract?”

“No.” 

“Then why?”

“The money, to be honest. I could use it right now.”

He doesn’t look at me, and I’m thankful for that. I don’t need any pity or charity from him. “So, are you some closet super fan that’s hoping to become friends or something?”

For a second, I almost say something sarcastic or teasing. Then his question registers, as well as the way his soft voice shook when he asked it. This is something Castiel worries about. 

Hoping I’m not about to make things worse, I try for the truth. “No, this isn’t even my favorite genre of music. But when I do listen to the rock station, you guys are one of my favorites.”

“What’s your favorite genre?”

“Classic rock. Zeppelin. Floyd. Kansas. That whole crowd.”

“That’s what got me into music. Actually, Pink Floyd’s _The Wall_ was the first time I really thought, ‘Wow. This is what I want to do.’” 

I smile. “Ya know, now that you say that, I definitely can hear that specific influence in a lot of your songs.”

“Really?” He looks over at me, genuinely happy with the compliment. “Thank you.”

“You guys opened for Five Finger Death Punch before your first headline tour, right?” 

“Yeah. Those guys were wild. Great mentors, though.”

Before I can respond, the ding of the elevator doors fills the night air. I jump out of my skin, and out of the water, to look who it is. At the same time, my hand goes to the waist of my suit where my gun always is. Except it’s not there. 

A cart of food is pushed out of the elevator with a man who looks too old and well dressed to have that sort of job. Sure enough, when we approach him, I see his tag says he’s the manager. I prepare myself for a scolding, and for possibly losing my job, but he just smiles sweetly at Castiel. “I thought I’d bring this to you personally, Mr. Novak. Thank you for giving our staff tickets tonight. Those of us that were lucky enough to go enjoyed it greatly.”

“No problem. I’m glad.” He gestures at the cart with an easy smile. “Thanks for the food. I know it’s late, but we were starving. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Of course.” He winks at Castiel. “I included some free dessert. Enjoy.”

The man leaves, and I stand where I am, dripping water, staring in awe at the cart. Castiel is pulling domes off of plates, revealing salads, scallops, burgers, fries, nachos, grilled tuna, and a hot lava chocolate cake that looks good enough to die for. He pulls out a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket, and I snap back to the real world. 

“No drinking.”

“Come on. One bottle, split between us? No one’s around. No partying or drugs. No paparazzi.” 

“I can’t drink on the job.”

He rolls his eyes. “You act like you were hired because a killer is after me or something. You can have one drink.”

“I can’t drink on the job, Mr. Novak.” I take a breath to steady myself. “And the contract was clear. You aren’t to drink, no matter what the situation.”

His teasing smile slips and he stares down at the bottle in his hand. Without arguing anymore, he puts it back in the bucket and grabs a salad and the scallops. He starts shuttling the plates to the nearest glass table. Once I realize what he’s doing, I help out. I’m the last one at the cart, grabbing the chocolate cake. My free hand pauses at the bottle of champagne. 

The exact wording in the contract is ‘No alcohol consumption.’ It’s pretty damn clear. It’s necessary with his medication. I know that. It still doesn’t feel right telling a grown man what he can and cannot do. 

“Whatever you’re freaking out about over there, calm down and eat.” He pushes the scallops towards me. He’s already eaten two. “Ever have these before? Fucking delicious.”

I take one and put it in my mouth, surprised by both the texture and the taste. It’s fantastic. That’s saying a lot, because I hate seafood. 

“That’s good,” I tell him, since he’s staring at me. To prove that I’m telling the truth, I pop another one in my mouth. 

He fidgets with a fry, tearing it apart on his plate. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t blame you for the contract. For not letting me drink. I get it. It’s your job.” 

“I get it too, though. Fucking sucks to be treated like a kid.”

The way he looks at me when I say that breaks my heart. Like no one has ever told him that his feelings were valid. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. Thanks.”

** Castiel **

We finish our meal in silence, except for the time Dean makes a nearly pornographic sound when he takes the first bite of the lava cake. Perhaps that moan is the reason I decide to lick off the hot fudge from my spoon the way I do. Slowly. Seductively. When he catches me, I grin and pop the spoon in my mouth, swirling my tongue before pulling it out with a loud ‘pop’ that leaves my lips vibrating. 

He can’t tear his eyes away fast enough. I fight back a laugh as I watch him wiggle in his seat and not-so-nonchalantly adjust himself. Tonight’s been too good to push buttons, though. If he were anyone else, I’d be doing everything in my power to make him uncomfortable. To make him quit. Naomi has gone through so many assistants and staff for that exact reason.

I have a feeling Dean might actually stick. He’s different than I expected. He seems to genuinely care. I saw how broken up he was over that bottle of champagne. Anyone else would have told me to suck it up and stop acting like a kid. Instead, Dean admitted that him and the others are treating me like a kid, and that it sucks. Sure, it doesn’t change the rules, but it feels damn good to know he’s on my side. Or, at least, leaning toward my side. 

That’s why I don’t tease him or make any comments. Instead, I stand up and walk over to the edge of the roof. The city is lit up and busy, which I suppose isn’t a surprise for a Saturday night in Seattle I look around, taking it all in. The Space Needle. The Seattle Great Wheel. Elliot Bay off in the distance. All the iconic things I never get to do. Naomi would rather I keep a low profile. I think she’s paranoid that any time I step out of the hotel or concert venue, I’ll royally fuck everything up. 

Can’t blame her, I guess. I’m pretty good at failing. 

Dean comes up behind me, resting his hands on my hips. I suck in a breath and hold it, unsure what he’s planning to do. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed when all he does is pull me away from the edge a few steps. It should piss me off that he doesn’t trust me to not jump. It always has before. 

It doesn’t. 

He settles right beside me, our shoulders pressed together. I wait for him to pull away and put space between us, but he doesn’t. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s actually pressing closer to me. 

“It’s so different from up here,” I tell him. I want to point out it’s lonely. Distant. Kind of sad. 

I don’t.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” To fight the urge to tell him how I feel, I say instead, “Not the best, though. There’s a rooftop pool in Australia that has a view that could take your breath away.”

“You have a thing for rooftop pools, don’t you?”

I look over at him and laugh. “Fuck yeah. They’re awesome.”

“I’ll give you that. They’re pretty great.”

“What about you?”

He arches an eyebrow at me, shaking his head. It’s adorable when he’s confused. “What about me?”

“What’s the best view you’ve ever seen?”

Instead of answering right away, his eyes go back to Seattle as he considers his options. Maybe he doesn’t have many, a small-town boy that hasn’t gotten around much. Or maybe he’s well-traveled and has too many to choose from. 

After a minute of charged silence, he responds in a husky voice, so unlike his professional one, it makes me shiver. “Somalia.”

Thrown off, I actually turn to look at him properly. “Somalia?”

“Yeah.”

“What in god’s name were you doing in Somalia?”

I expect him to laugh or tell me he’s joking. Maybe a test to see if I’m smart enough to know where that is. Instead, his expression darkens. “We had a mission there.”

“We?”

This time, he’s the one that looks confused. “My SEAL team.”

The best way to describe the feeling in this moment is like getting punched in the gut. No one told me this guy was a fucking SEAL. They didn’t even tell me he was a veteran. “I didn’t know you served.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I feel my cheeks heat up, so I hurry and add, “It’s not that I didn’t care or anything. I just, ya know, I wasn’t in a good mood today so I didn’t even look into you.”

He smiles. “It’s fine.”

“And I’m not an idiot. I promise. I know where Somalia is.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s like Black Hawk Down, right?”

Another wave of darkness casts over his face, and he looks away from me. “Yes. The Battle of Mogadishu was in Somalia.”

“That was before you, though, right? You weren’t there. That was in the nineties.”

He shakes his head, looking somewhere between amused and perplexed. “Yeah. How the hell do you know that?”

“I was a history major.”

This time, he’s the one that turns fully to look at me face on. “You went to college?”

“Yup. Graduated with honors.” 

“Damn.” He nods his head. “Impressive.”

“Not as impressive as a fucking Navy SEAL.”

He laughs. “True. Yours was probably much more enjoyable to achieve, though. Trust me. Training was brutal.”

“Yeah. I can barely swim, so not really my path of life.” When he lets the conversation drop, I pick it right back up. “So, Somalia. What was the view? I’m assuming not the bombed out buildings and scary men walking around with rifles?”

“No. Not those.” He goes quiet again, but I get the feeling he’s just thinking for a minute. Probably caught up in memories. 

My eyes figure out a way to pass the time. I had checked him out earlier, of course, but then I had seen the gun, and the suicidal part of my brain got excited. Now that I’m looking closer, especially with this new knowledge, I see the evidence of his time in the military. It’s everywhere, from his scattered scars to his tattoos.

Just as I’m wondering what one of his tattoos means, he says, “It was a sunset. The colors were so rich and bright. Nearly the whole damn rainbow went through the sky before the sun finally left. It was one of those moments where you’re in the middle of hell, and you know you could die any second, but then – holy shit, look at that – and you’re reminded how beautiful the world is.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It was.” He presses closer to me. Definitely presses closer to me. Not in my head. That’s him closing in. That’s his pinky touching my pinky. “We should get you to bed.”

My stomach flips in a way that makes me want to run in the opposite direction of him. Whatever this is that’s happening between us, whatever I’m feeling right now, it has to stop. I need it to stop. 

I watch as he turns away from me and starts loading the cart with our plates. I should help him, but I can’t get my feet to move. 

_Why can’t I just feel comfortable in my own skin? Why can’t I just tell Dean I’m gay and see what happens? Why can’t I just fucking be with someone – in a real relationship – and be happy for once? _

My dad answers back, _Because you know you would just end up letting him down. Sex is all your good at when it comes to men. _

_Fuck off, dad, _I growl back at him inside my head, even though I know he’s right. 

_He’s probably not even an abomination like you. Look at him. A fucking Navy SEAL. He isn’t going to be some sodomite sissy. He’s a real man. Not a fag. _

“You good?” Dean asks, snapping me out of my mental battle. I do a quick body check. No tears. No visible shaking. No clenched fists. 

“I’m good.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean**

Castiel is attractive. Very attractive. Anyone with eyes can see that. Full head of curls. Great body. Tattoos. Those damn blue eyes. There’s a reason he gets panties thrown at him on stage, and comes away from meet and greets with lipstick stains. 

I like this version of him better. The version no one else gets to see. 

Castiel is cute. Adorable. Burrowed into his bed. Fast asleep. Lips parted softly. Curls in all directions against the pillow. Long eyelashes resting on his cheeks. One fist clenching the comforter like he needed to hold something last night. 

He probably doesn’t get a lot of sleep. I’ve seen his crazy schedule. Between the performances, interviews, band practices, sound checks, meet and greets, public appearances, appointments with his stylist, and meetings with his management team, I don’t know how he has time to eat, let alone sleep. 

But he sounded sad last night. He had looked at the city with longing. This morning, when I met with Naomi outside of the hotel room door to give a quick report, I asked if Castiel and the band ever got to go sightseeing. 

Sometimes the other bandmates get to.

Castiel’s always far too busy.

She assured me that Castiel doesn’t mind. He’s not big on public places or big crowds. He’s not interested in the cities. He’d rather relax when he can and focus on his music.

I don’t believe her. 

And that’s why I didn’t run this plan by her. She never said I had to tell her everything I do with Castiel. This doesn’t break my contract. I checked every single line. 

When I softly shake Castiel awake, he blinks up at me in confusion. I have to stifle a laugh when he glances at the alarm clock and groans. “Too early. No.”

“It’s eight.”

“Early.” He tugs the blanket over his head and wiggles beneath it like he’s trying to get further away from me. “Nothin’ till ‘leven.”

“Except for what I have planned.”

He growls and wiggles again. “Go ‘way. Early.”

“I need to go for a run.” _Nothing_. “I can’t go for a run without you.” _Nothing_. “Any chance you like to run?” 

With a burst of angry energy, he sits up in the bed and glares at me. “Do I look like I like to run?”

It takes all my strength not to laugh at him. His hair is wild – and not in the sexy way it usually is. A chunk is sticking up in the back, defying gravity. The left side of his head is pushed flat. Curls are falling all over his forehead. 

“No,” I tell him when I have myself under control. “But you would get to see the city. Without any fans. Or security, besides me.”

He relaxes slightly. “I’m listening.”

“If you come for a run with me, we can explore. Nothing too crazy or public. But you can borrow one of my hats and a pair of sunglasses, and it’s cool out this morning so you can wear long sleeves to hide the tattoos.” He still looks unconvinced, so I take a chance and add, “Naomi doesn’t know.”

Scandalized, he climbs out of bed and grins at me. “Really?”

“Really. Only person I told was Gabe. That way if we get kidnapped, they’ll know where to start.”

He nods rapidly. “Yes. Running. I can run.”

I look him up and down. He’s not out of shape by any means, but he doesn’t seem like much of a runner either. 

“Can you run?” I ask, doubting him. 

“No idea.” He winks at me. “But I’m sure as hell gonna try.”  


**Castiel**

Running? Not fun. 

Watching Dean run? In that tight black under armour shirt that hugs his biceps and massive chest? In those loose shorts that fall at his knees, hanging from his hips in a way that makes my mouth dry? In that backward ball cap that makes him look both casual and hot as fuck? With those long tan legs? And that gorgeous ass? And the sweat that trickles down his temple that I bet tastes fantastic? And his-

“Castiel!” I nearly trip as his voice registers. He grabs my arm to steady me and laughs. The asshole isn’t even out of breath. 

I take a second to hate him for being so perfect before quickly looking around us. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“We’re here.”

I look around again, eyebrows pulling in. “Where?”

“Here.” He takes my hand. For some reason, I don’t pull away. I trust him. It’s a strange feeling that I like an awful lot. This is how I imagine being weightless would feel. 

When he’s sure I’m following, he drops my hand. I’m only slightly disappointed because then we are turning a corner and entering a place full of noise, and color, and smells. There’s a large red sign that reads: Public Market Center. Beneath it is a sea of people.

As we get closer, I notice a crowd forming beneath the Farmers Market sign. I push forward until I find the source of their entertainment. There had been music beneath the constant chatter, I had assumed it was a radio. It’s not. 

It’s a teenage boy with a guitar and a microphone, his case open for people to toss money into. He’s currently belting out the lyrics to his own version of Radiohead’s _Creep_. He’s good. Really good. 

Dean presses his chest to my back and rests a hand on my hip. To outsiders, we must look like a couple. I have to remind myself we aren’t. He’s just doing his job. This is a dangerous situation he’s letting me be in. It makes sense he wants hands on me. 

It doesn’t hurt for me to like it, right?

He’s probably straight anyway. 

The kid finishes and thanks everyone after a round of applause. He starts fiddling with his guitar, stepping back from the mic, as people drop money and go their own ways. I reach into my pocket, but Dean stops me by grabbing my wrist. 

His lips settle against the shell of my ear, making me shiver. “That kid is possibly the most likely here to recognize you.”

“He deserves money.”

“I agree.” He puts a hand out in front of my stomach, palm up. “I’ll give it to him.” 

With a sigh, I pull out a few larger bills from my wallet and hand them to Dean. He pulls me as close as he must think possible, then hurries to step away and deposit the money. I notice that the few seconds we are apart, his eyes stay on me and his hand goes to his waist. 

I wonder if he has his gun there again. 

I wonder why, for the first time in far too long, that doesn’t make me immediately think of using it on myself. 

Then he has me by the hand again, and my thoughts evaporate. He glances over his shoulder at me and smiles wide. “Keep the hat on but you can take your sunglasses off. Chin low. No talking. If you think someone recognizes you, squeeze my hand three times in a row.”

I bite my lip as my heart begins to race. Until now, I had been too amazed and thrilled to fully realize our situation. Dean could lose his job. I could get hurt. Or worse. 

I tighten my grip on his hand. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to get hurt. Today is a good day. 

Today, I’ll be careful. 

**Dean**

This might be the most idiotic decision of my life, which includes the time I let Benny convince me, along with our other two best friends Ash and Chuck, to spend our 48 hours of military leave drinking our way through clubs in Amsterdam. 

I could lose my job doing this. He could get discovered. He could get hurt. He could get kidnapped. He could get killed. 

He could get away from me and kill himself. 

I tighten my grip on his hand, my heart skipping when it makes him look over his shoulder and smile at me. That one smile makes me not care about my job. And I’m not worried about protecting him. I’m confident I can keep him safe. The only thing that can come out of this is my ass getting fired, put on a plane, and chewed out by Benny. 

The look in Castiel’s eyes right now? So. Fucking. Worth it. 

The rockstar is in a daze as he hovers his fingers over the array of flowers in front of him. We’re surrounded by them in this spot, every color in the damn rainbow filling our vision. He could probably let go of my hand right now – he did at the fish market when he was offered free samples – but he doesn’t. He holds me tight as he explores the flowers. 

I don’t know what to make of that. 

I googled him last night. He’s straight. There are multiple accounts of him dating – the relationships always very short – and having random hookups. All with girls. Very pretty, very female, girls. 

But the way he looks at me sometimes...I don’t know.

Maybe I just need to get laid. It’s been a while. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” I snap my head up, the hand holding his tightening while the other hovers over my hidden gun. 

I hear him laugh softly while I scan the flowers for a threat. “Calm down. I just wanted to know if you’re ready to move on.”

“Me?” I glance at his free hand. “Are you?” 

“Yeah. We’re on a time crunch, right? I want to see more stuff.”

He looks like a little kid on Christmas, giddy with excitement. I can’t help but grin at him. “Of course. Did you want to buy some flowers?”

He blushes – actually fucking blushes – and it’s so damn cute I have to bite the tip of my tongue and turn to face the flowers to keep from saying or doing anything else idiotic today. 

“I always thought buying flowers yourself was weird, ya know? Unless you have like a house with a vase and shit.”

“Alright. Where to next then?”

Castiel shrugs. “I’ve kind of liked this whole no plan thing. Can we just keep walking and see what we find?”

I can’t do anything but smile at him. “Yeah, Cas. We can do that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song Castiel is referring to in this chapter is Breaking Down by I Prevail. It can be found at either of the two links below! Also, the version of Tiny Dancer Castiel sings can be found on the spotify playlist!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZkI3ASz8Lg
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10khFWbR12AXhX4HjqqSlw

**Castiel**

He called me Cas. _Cas. _And I liked it. Even though I’ve known him only a day, it felt right. Natural. 

What the fuck is happening with this guy? And why am I letting it happen?

After sneaking back into the hotel, I shower and get dressed just in time for the band’s meeting. We did two nights in Seattle because we have enough fans for two concerts, but we also did it because our record label is based here, and they’re starting to get impatient. 

I tug on my clothes anxiously as Dean leads me to the lobby where Naomi and the band are waiting. The executives are upset because of me, and I don’t know what I’ll tell them today. 

Nothing has changed. 

A few blocks away from the studio, Dean’s hand gently rests on my bouncing knee. I choose to focus on a button that seems to be loose on my casual button-up shirt. When that doesn’t work, I brush imaginary pieces of lint off my Pink Floyd undershirt. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks as we pull up to the building. 

I stare at his hand on my knee. At some point I started moving it again. 

“Talk about what?” When he says nothing, I peek up at him. The look he’s giving me _almost _makes me smile. “I hate these meetings.”

“Not a big fan of the suits?”

“They aren’t a fan of me.”

“Why?”

The driver opens my door before I can answer, and I’ve never felt more grateful. At least until a large group of paparazzi nearly plows me over the second my feet touch the pavement. I grip the edge of the car door to keep from falling over and put my other arm up to block the wave of flashes as pictures are snapped. 

“Back up!” I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist as Dean’s voice booms over the noise of the crowd. “Give him space. Back up.”

He turns our bodies so that his chest is against my side, and he’s in between the paparazzi and me. There’s more shouting. More flashing. Dean yelling. 

“Castiel, who are you dating?”

“Castiel, is it true you’re quitting the band?”

“Is the band breaking up?”

“Were you doing drugs at Zoom last night?”

“Castiel, are you high right now?”

“Castiel, did-” Dean presses his hand against my back and finally gets me through the front door of the studio. The lobby is serene and organized, as if a zoo isn’t standing on the other side of the soundproofed glass. 

A girl meets us halfway to the elevators, handing me a travel coffee as she smiles politely. “Mr. Novak, welcome. If you’ll just follow me please.”

I take a sip of my coffee and pull away, hissing through my teeth as it burns my tongue. The girl stops short of the conference room door and turns a wide-eyed look on me. “Is it the wrong order? I was told large Americano with a pump of cinnamon. I can get you-”

“No, no. It’s perfect. Thank you. It’s just hot. No big deal.”

Unfortunately, this just makes her face fall further. “You burned yourself. Oh god, your tongue! And you’re the lead singer. I am so so sorry! I-”

“Shhh, hey. Calm down.” I put a hand on her shoulder and smile to show I’m not upset. The poor thing must be an intern. She’s clearly terrified. “My fault. Not yours.”

“So sorry,” she whispers again. “You can go in when you’re ready.”

I watch as she practically sprints away in her heels. It isn’t until Dean clears his throat that I even remember he’s there. 

“You’re so damn nice. Why don’t they ever show that?” 

Giving him a sad smile, I tell him the truth. “It doesn’t make a good story.”

“You’re more than a story.”

“Yeah?” I look at the door in front of us as if I can see all the people on the other side of it. “Tell them that.”

\----

We make it four minutes. Four minutes. That’s it. Enough to get through greetings, polite small talk, compliments on our show last night, and the focus to turn to the main issue. 

Me. 

As always, it starts out like I’m not there. 

“How is the new album coming along?” Barry Marks, the Vice President of the label, asks Naomi. 

There’s a short silence before Naomi quietly answers, “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Have any new songs been written?” Barry asks. 

“No,” Gabriel answers. 

“We have a few ideas,” Chuck adds. 

“We wrote_ Lifelines _in eight days,” Charlie says in defense. “We will be fine.”

“We?” Barry slaps a hand on the table, making everyone but me jump. “_You _didn’t write _Lifelines. _Castiel wrote that album.”

Finally, eyes turn to me. Everyone’s. Barry asks through gritted teeth, “Any new songs, Castiel?”

“No.”

“Have you even tried?”

I stare at the lid of my coffee cup. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Barry gets to his feet and begins to pace. One hand rests on his hip while the other tugs at his necktie. “It’s been a year. You’ve only written one song for the album. You decided on the title. You have a concept. Write the fucking songs.”

“I just need more time.”

“No. You’ve had time. So whatever issue you’re having, stop having it.”

Since I don’t know what the problem is, I remain silent. 

Naomi tries to help by saying, “He’s had a bad week and-”

“Bad week? He’s had a bad fucking life!” Barry turns on me, his face bright red. “I’m sorry, Castiel. Truly. But I need you to be a fucking professional. Trying to kill yourself fourteen months ago doesn’t work as an excuse anymore!”

“Guess I’ll have to fucking renew it, then.” I push back my chair and stand up, storming out of the room before anyone can stop me. Dean is waiting right outside the conference room door. With one look at his face, I know he didn’t hear anything. I’m so upset right now, that information brings me no comfort.

I hear Naomi say something in a sharp voice at Dean. I don’t care what it is. The paparazzi scatter as I push through them. I get in the backseat of the car, slamming the door so hard the driver jumps. I tell him to drive, and he listens. He doesn’t ask for a destination, which is perfect because I don’t have one. All I know is that I want away. Away from that studio. Naomi. Barry. The band. Dean. The cameras. The questions. 

The failure. 

That life.

** Dean **

I find him at the market. He’s by the flowers, staring at a basket of yellow tulips. No one has recognized him yet, which is no small miracle. 

When I come up beside him, he reacts differently than I expected. Instead of getting tense or trying to run, he relaxes. A soft puff of air comes from his lips, and then he’s smiling.

Keeping his eyes on the flowers, he tells me, “I was hoping you’d be the one to find me.”

“We tried to track your phone. When that led us to a dumpster a few blocks from here, I had a feeling this was where you went.”

“Where are they?”

“Who?”

He finally looks up at me. “Naomi. The other security. The cops. Whoever else she roped into this.”

“At the hotel.” I look at the flowers. He does too. “I promised them I knew where you were. Said it’d be best if I came alone.”

“Risky.”

“Worth it.” When he doesn’t agree, I reach out and grab one of the tulips. He eyes it as I touch the petals with my thumb. “You can’t run from me.”

“I know.”

I take two more flowers. Then I turn to a new basket. These I don’t know the name of, but their bright orange color looks nice against the yellow flowers in my hand. I grab one. 

“You can’t run from me,” I repeat, looking at the next basket like I’m telling the peonies instead of him. “You can run _with_ me, Cas. I will always run with you. But you can’t run _from_ me.”

The air shifts, and I know he understands me without him needing to say a word. I continue picking flowers while he stays by my side in silence. When I’m done, he follows me to the register. The cashier arranges the flowers in a perfect bouquet, making them all look like they actually belong together. Then he wraps them up and hands them to me. 

We walk out of the market and to the street where I have the car parked. I open the door, and he gets in without protest. 

At the first red light, I hand him the flowers. He takes them, but in confusion. I explain, “Now you can have flowers without it being weird.”

The look on his face is priceless. He sinks back in his seat and tightens his hold on the bouquet, making the white paper around it crinkle. He doesn’t even put up a fight when his face turns into a smile. 

He doesn’t say thank you. 

Instead, when we pull into the hotel parking lot, he turns to me, looks me in the eyes, and promises, “We run together. Always.”

“That’s all I ask.”

\----

I made sure no one spoke to Castiel about his outburst for the rest of the night. Not even Naomi. Gabriel was the least enthused, but as of now, it seems he’s respected the request. I made him a promise that I had the situation under control. There’s a chance I might not be able to keep that, but I’m trying to be optimistic.

When we get into the SUV after the show, Castiel zips up his hooded sweatshirt and sinks down in the seat like he’s trying to disappear. I watch as his left knee begins to bounce again. 

“Naomi told me what happened in the meeting,” I whisper. 

He turns his head slightly toward me but says nothing. Testing my luck, I slide across the backseat until I’m right beside him, our shoulders pressed together. There’s room between him and the window, so he could move if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t. 

“She wouldn’t tell me exactly what Barry said, though. Just that it was something to do with your past that was out of line.” 

Castiel huffs, but remains silent. 

“Naomi told me to watch you closely. That I should worry about you.” 

His hand resting against his bouncing knee curls into a tight fist. 

“Should I be worried about you, Cas?”

I watch his eyes slide closed. Before I can think of the next thing I want to say, he starts to speak. “I tried killing myself last year.”

Without meaning to, I involuntarily reach out and touch his knee. He opens his eyes and stares at where my hand is on him. Then he shoves the sleeve of his sweatshirt up to his elbow and drags the tip of a finger along a jagged scar I’ve never noticed before. His guitar tattoo covers it perfectly. 

“Gabriel found me,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean for him to. It wasn’t my intention to hurt him like that. He was supposed to be out of town. Figured Naomi or someone would come over to bother me. Find me first. I wrote him a letter saying I was sorry.”

I stay quiet, knowing he’s probably not done. I gently squeeze his knee though to let him know I’m listening and here for him. He places a hand over mine, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. It fades quickly. 

“I can’t write songs anymore,” Castiel admits. “Barry said some shit about using what happened as an excuse. That’s not what I’m trying to do, I swear. I just – I can’t write. I _can’t_. I try so fucking hard, but nothing comes. It’s like I cut myself open that day and all of it poured out. There’s nothing left.”

“That’s not true. You’re still here, and that’s far from nothing,” I whisper, skimming my thumb over Castiel’s knee. “And the writing thing? It’ll come when it comes. You can’t force it. He should know that.”

“He doesn’t make money off of ‘it’ll come when it comes.’ He wants it now.”

“Well, fuck him.”

Castiel releases a surprised snort, looking up at me with those bright blue eyes of his. When he sees the deadly serious expression on my face, he shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“He’s no-”

“Dean?”

I stop, swallowing my words and replacing them. “Yeah?”

“The last thing I feel like doing right now is talking about him.”

“Of course. Dropping it.”

“But Dean?”

“Yeah?”

He peeks up at me through his lashes, his cheeks turning pink. “Thanks for the flowers. And, ya know, for everything else today.”

I smile wide at him. “Anytime, Cas.”  
  


** Castiel **

We both lay on our separate beds that are just a few feet apart, pretending to sleep. Something is happening between us. At least for me. It feels like for him too, though. 

Like the moment we had in the elevator a few minutes ago. It was a look. Just one look. It was so heated that I was sure it’d continue when we got in the room. Except it hadn’t. He went to the bathroom and changed into sweats, no shirt. I did the same, finding him already laying on his back in his bed, one arm thrown up on the pillow over his head. He was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. So, I got in my own bed and pretended to sleep. 

After a long time passed, he had whispered, “Cas?”

I had sucked in a breath and asked, “Yeah?” 

And he did nothing but sigh softly before whispering, “Nothing. Good night.”

So here we lay, both aware the other is awake. Not talking. Not moving. Barely even breathing. 

The air is heavy, the silence uncomfortable and loaded. I keep thinking of things to say or ask, but none of them feel right. 

I wonder if he’s doing the same, or if something completely different is bothering him. Maybe it isn’t me, or whatever this is between us, keeping him awake. It could be anything. 

It could be Somalia. 

My heart aches. _Oh, no. What if Dean can’t sleep? _If that’s the case, I want to help him, but if he’s sitting there stewing over me or us or how he hates this new job, the last thing I want to do is talk. 

I decide to go halfway, moving my head to the side so I can look at him. The movement makes noise against the crisp sheets and pillowcase. He doesn’t move but his breathing picks up and his fists tighten around his blanket. 

With my heart hammering so hard I can barely hear my own words, I ask, “Do you usually have trouble sleeping?” 

It wasn’t what he was expecting, because his entire body relaxes. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing for me, but it’s too late now. 

“I don’t sleep much. I’ve gotten good at functioning well without it.”

“But that was probably when you _had _to go without sleep. You don’t _have_ to now. Get some rest. No one’s going to come barreling in trying to kill you.” 

“That’s not the problem.”

I watch him, my mind working. My heart skips and I take a chance. “No one’s going to come barreling in trying to kill me, either.”

“Tell my body that.” The way he says it is angry and frustrated, but it’s not directed at me. It’s at himself. 

“It won’t let you fall asleep, or you don’t like what happens when you do?”

He surprises me by turning on his side. Our eyes are so used to the dark by now we can almost clearly see each other. “Your new album is titled _Trauma_. Why?” 

Not what I expected, and definitely not what I want to talk about, but I suppose I did the same to him just now.

He was vague. Maybe I can be too. “The only song I have written for it is sort of based on my past. It’s called _Breaking Down_, but I didn’t want that to be the title. Studio came up with the title Trauma for the album, and I liked it, so we’re goin’ with that.”

“When did you write _Breaking Down_?”

“The night I tried to kill myself.”

The noise he makes is strangled – torn between anger and grief. “They can’t make you sing that. They can’t make you write a whole fucking album around it. Jesus.”

“It’s okay, Dean.”

“It’s not! It’s so far from okay. I swear, I wanna fucking-”

“Dean,” I say softly. He stops talking, meeting my eyes from across the room. “I want to keep the song. I want to write the album. It’s hard, but I have to do it. I need to. For the fans that feel how I feel. For myself.”

Shifting slightly on the bed, Dean asks, “Why trauma, though?”

“I-” my throat tightens, and I pause to take a breath, trying to order my thoughts. For the first time – absolutely first time – I want to be completely honest. I want to trust him. Open myself up and let him look inside. 

It terrifies me. 

“I was abused growing up. No one knows, besides Gabe. You can’t tell. Please, don’t-”

“Hey, shhhh. I won’t. I won’t ever tell.” 

“Okay.” I swallow hard. The panic that had welled up inside me had taken me by surprise. 

“Is that why you can’t finish the album, though? Thinking about the abuse is too hard?”

I look away, focusing on the edge of his mattress instead of him. “I honestly don’t know. Laying here, right now, it doesn’t bother me to think about it. But when I pick up my guitar or paper and try to write, it’s like all the emotions slam into me and every word in the human language gets drowned out.”

For a few seconds, he stays silent, almost like he’s expecting me to continue. When he realizes that I’m done speaking, he asks, “Was it,” then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

I scoot closer to the edge of my bed. Closer to him. “No, go ahead. Ask.”

His face twists and I worry he won’t do it. That he’s shutting down. My heart sinks, weighing heavy in my gut. But then he asks, “Was it your parents, or someone else?” 

“My parents. Mostly my dad, my mom was more passive. Hated me from afar.” 

“I’d say I’m sorry, but it pisses me off when people say that to me, because I have to say it’s okay and it’s not fucking okay, so I won’t.”

My chest warms and I wish I was in bed with him so I could hug him tight, show him what that means to me. For someone to listen and understand without forcing me to move on so they don’t have to linger in it with me. 

I do the next best thing and just keep talking. Telling him everything. Bearing my soul. 

“He was rough on everyone. Religious. Strict. Big on corporal punishment. But it was never that bad. He hit me with the belt a few times. That was pretty much it.” I look away from him, unable to see his expression as I say the next part. “Until he found out I was gay when I was 15. I knew almost immediately after I found out what sex and love was that I wanted those things with men. There was no confusion. I mean, I was confused about God and sin and all that, but I wasn’t confused about what my body wanted. I fought it for a very long time. Hid it. I thought, maybe, the right girl would come around one day to change my mind. Or, long shot, someone would come tell me God wouldn’t care. That I didn’t have to change. I grew up in this very secluded town. Very religious. No one there went against the grain. I prayed every night. Prayed for him to make me straight. To make me normal.”

I swallow a lump in my throat, forcing myself to continue. To get to the better parts. “Then I met the town mechanic, when I was twelve, and he taught me how wrong they were. How wrong I was for thinking I wasn’t normal. That I was a freak. He went to church and said what he was supposed to in order to keep up appearances, but one day I heard music coming from his house. A song I had never heard before. My dad had tugged me along, told me it was devil music, but I was already hooked. I started sneaking over there and hiding behind his tree, listening. When he caught me, I thought for sure he was going to tell my dad. Instead, he invited me inside for some sweet tea. He taught me everything I know about music. Taught me how to play instruments. How to read music. How to write songs. He taught me about the history of music, and the various musicians through the years that he deemed crucial for me to know. He told me I was a natural. I figured he was just trying to put some confidence in my twelve-year-old body.”

I pause, smiling to myself as I think of Bobby. The crabby old man with a heart of gold. In my silence, Dean asks, “What was the song?”

“Hmm?”

“That first day, with your dad. Did you ever figure out what song it had been?”

This makes me laugh. Only someone like Dean would want to know that_. _

_I have to be careful or I’m going to fall for this man._

I wait for that thought to make me panic, but it doesn’t. Must be how late it is. It’ll kick in tomorrow. 

“_Metal Health_.”

“Oooo, Quiet Riot. I can get behind that introduction.” 

I laugh, remembering that first day when I had begged Bobby to play the song I had heard again. All I could tell him were a few of the words I had clung to, but he had popped on the vinyl a minute later and there it was. I can still hear his gravelly voice as he told me, “You like that? Let me show you this.” He didn’t just show me _this_, he showed me damn near everything. 

“I don’t know if he could sense it – my sexuality, I mean – but not long after that he started showing me openly gay artists. I had already heard most of them with him, but he focused on them a lot more, and made sure I knew they were gay. That people were fine with it now a days, even if most of them had to hide it back in the 70s and 80s. That the world was different than what my parents wanted me to believe. I remember being afraid of that. My whole life I had been told one thing, but then he was suddenly telling me something completely different. Something I had always dreamed of hearing.”

I laugh at my teenage self. “I became obsessed with Chuck Panozzo. Pretty sure I listened to every Styx song, like, a hundred times. Some of them way more than that. He showed me Bowie, too. I remember being so amazed by how open and free he was, just doing his own thing. Showed me Elton John, which was a big one for me. Actually, Elton John was the first artist I played guitar on. The first song I ever learned was _Tiny Dancer_.”

“Mmmm,” he smiles. “Great song. I can’t imagine it acoustic, but I bet it’s nice.”

Getting an idea, I roll off the bed and walk toward the couch. He sits up but doesn’t chase me or ask what I’m doing. I keep talking, suddenly nervous about what I’m going to do. 

“I remember asking him a hundred times ‘_Are you sure? Are you sure people knew he was gay? Like, back then even? And they still liked him? Are you sure?_ And he was so patient with me. He showed me articles. Interviews. Performances. Don’t get me wrong, he didn’t paint a perfect world for me. Bobby wanted me to know everything. He showed me hate crimes and protests and bigots. Talked to me about Matthew Shepard and Barry Winchell. But he also showed me that I had a community, if I wanted it. Showed me Pride. Showed me all the people out and proud nowadays. All the acceptance. He showed me that _I _could be accepted.”

“That must have felt amazing.”

“It did. I felt valid.” I take my guitar from my case and return to the bedroom area. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I go through a quick tuning check. 

“How old were you at that point?”

“When I finally felt valid? 15.” I lick my lips, looking down at my shaking hands on the guitar. “I accepted myself. I had finally decided I couldn’t fight it anymore. I still wasn’t sure where me and God stood, but I figured me and the old guy had time to work that out.”

“Did you come out then?”

“No. I planned on waiting. Gabe had just gone off to college the year before, and when he visited he made it clear to my parents that he didn’t have to live in their bubble anymore. Put up with their shit. He made sure me and my siblings knew what was out there. I remember him telling me one night, when we were alone, _just make it to 18, Cas. Make it to 18, survive this place, then run like hell and leave it behind. _I asked him why he came back then and he said for me. That night, after he said that, I told him I was gay. He was the first. I think Bobby knew, but he never said, just made sure I knew he was open when I was ready to tell him. I made the decision that I’d wait to come out until college. 3 years couldn’t be that hard, right? I’d just be really careful and patient.” 

I play the opening chords to _Tiny Dancer_ and his face splits into a grin. “I was really hopin’ that was what you were doing,” he admits.

Chuckling, I play the chords again, letting my body remember. It’s been a few months since I played this. When I have a really bad day, or I’m writers blocked, I come back to _Tiny Dancer._ I had stopped when I realized even _Tiny Dancer _couldn’t help my issues right now. 

“How’d your dad find out?” he asks quietly when I still don’t start singing.

I close my eyes, remembering that day. “There was a boy visiting his grandma for the summer. He was a lot like me, and he wasn’t on board with how everyone there thought. He came from cool, accepting parents. He called them modern day hippies. I started bringing him to Bobby’s. Bobby started conveniently running errands and stuff like that to give us some alone time. My plan to be patient, to be smart, flew straight out the window. Kevin threw everything out the window. I was totally in love and totally obsessed. I had no idea if he was even gay at first. Then he kissed me one night while I was on this passionate rant about Elton John being so fucking cool, and it felt like my whole world changed.” 

I decide I need to end there. I’m not ready to tell what happened next. So I start at the top of the song, and this time, when the right moment comes, I softly sing the words. 

At some point, he closes his eyes, and a sated smile pulls at his lips. I do the same, just letting the music fill the room around us. When I play the final note, it vibrates for a few seconds before dissipating. The bed dips beside me before I open my eyes, a warm hand trailing over my bare shoulder. I hold my breath and keep my eyes closed, afraid it’s my imagination. Afraid I’ll open my eyes and see him on his bed still. 

Warm breath falls on the shell of my ear. “That was beautiful.”

“Th-thanks.” I try to release a breathy laugh but it comes out more like a broken whimper. 

“You should sing raw like that more often. There’s a magic that happens when it’s just you and that guitar. I can’t explain it.”

I nod, still keeping my eyes closed. “I feel it too.” 

“Don’t ruin it. Don’t let your dad in here tonight. Tell me the rest of the story another time.” 

This time, I definitely whimper. This man seems to know me so well already. I feel like our souls are the same. 

He wraps an arm around me and I finally open my eyes to look at him. Our faces are just inches apart. A kiss away. 

For the first time since Kevin, I don’t want to run. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Are you – I mean,” I stop, hating myself for asking this. It’s unspoken code. You don’t go yanking someone from their closet. They’ll tell you if they want you to know. But I need to know. I _need _to. “Are you straight?”

Whatever he was expecting, that sure wasn’t it. He flinches and looks away from me. I can’t help but notice his eyes wander to his bed almost longingly. “We should get some sleep,” he says instead of answering. 

“Yeah. Sleep,” I whisper, letting my hand rest over the hand he has on his knee. His eyes snap up to mine, and he licks his lips in what seems like an involuntary movement. 

He barely chokes out a soft, “Yeah.”

“Go ahead then.”

Instead of moving away from me, Dean lifts his hand just enough for his fingers to slip through mine. “Thanks for singin’ to me, Cas.” 

“Anytime.” 

“Good night.”

I nod, my heart racing. “Good night, Dean.”

He gets off the bed and goes to his own. Never before have I felt so completely alone. 


	5. Chapter 5

** Castiel  **

Before I even have my breakfast in the morning, Gabriel comes storming into my hotel room. I had been avoiding him since the incident yesterday. Judging by the worry, fear, and anger on his face, I think he’s done letting me get away with it. 

“Dean, can I please talk to him for a minute? Alone?” 

The internal struggle plays out on Dean’s face, but he eventually nods and tells Gabriel, “Five minutes.”

“Thank you.”

Once the door is closed and it’s just me and Gabriel, he yanks me into a tight hug. It’s one of those embraces where you get the feeling that the person needs it more than you do, so I wrap my arms around him too. We stand like that for a long time. 

Then he slowly pulls away and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Barry’s just a dick.”

“Yesterday was – that was more than just being a dick, Cas. Naomi is threatening to have the band buy out of the final few months of our contract with the label. She’s pissed. We all are.”

I shake my head. “No, that can’t happen. That’d be so stupid. They’re one of the best labels in the country.”

“We don’t care.”

“Well I do.”

With a roll of his eyes, Gabriel turns away from me and starts to pace around the room. “What you said before you left, about trying to – to kill yourself again. Did you mean it?”

The question catches me off guard and I take a minute to answer it. By the look on Gabriel’s face, he knows the truth already, regardless of what I say. 

“Gabe, I’m okay,” I eventually tell him, skirting around the question.

“Did you mean it?”

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

I look at my brother – the man who gave up the rest of our family to be with me, left his hometown, and stayed by my side every day since. 

The man who found me that night fourteen months ago, unconscious and dying on the bathroom floor.

The man who had to scream for someone to call 911 because his hands were too busy trying desperately to stop the blood flow. 

“At the time, I think a part of me meant it. But right now, in this very moment, I don’t want to kill myself.” I give him a half smile. “That’s all I’ve got for you, Gabe.”

“I’ll take that.” He looks over at the door like someone’s there. “He said not to talk to you about yesterday. Told us all to leave you alone.” 

I don’t need to ask who Gabriel is referring to. Instead, I just smile. “So that’s why everyone’s been so unusually calm.”

“Yeah. He claims he has everything under control.” Gabriel looks back at me, one eyebrow raised. “Does he?”

“No idea. All I know is I don’t.” 

“Well then, let’s hope he’s telling the truth.” 

“Let’s hope.”

Gabriel pulls me into another hug. I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. It’s always so much harder to deal with my issues when I have to watch Gabriel fall apart because of them. He cares so much. Usually he cares more than I do, picking up my slack, caring enough for the two of us. 

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” I whisper, hating that my voice breaks as I speak his name. “I’m sorry I keep putting you through all this.”

“You aren’t putting me through anything, baby bro. We’re in this together.”

“But your life would be so much easier without me. You’d have mom and dad, and you’d-”

“Stop!” Gabriel pulls out of the hug so he can hold me at arm’s length. He locks eyes with me and says in a slow, clear voice, “You aren’t a burden.”

“But-“

“Please, Cas.” A tear slips down his cheek but he ignores it. His grip on my arms tightens to the point of pain. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. If you ever get that bad again, you have to tell someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It could even be the hot bodyguard out there. I don’t care. Just don’t give up again. Please. For me.”

I want to tell him it’s not that simple, but he’s already too close to breaking. So I make a promise I can’t be sure I’ll keep. “I’ll get help. I won’t give up. You’ll never have to go through that again. Okay?”

He relaxes, a genuine smile slipping into place. A surge of guilt crawls up my throat, and I have to turn away before it shows. 

I’m not sure if I’ve ever lied to him before. 

I hate it.

  


**Dean**

I see the tour bus for the first time the next morning. It’s nearly as big as the suite in the hotel. There are two tour busses, actually, but I’ll be on the one that the band stays on so I’ll be close to Castiel. 

“Are these hardwood floors?” I ask incredulously as Castiel leads me early in the morning so I can have the tour before everyone else gets on board. 

“What? That’d be ridiculous. They’re fake.” 

“Right. Because that’s what would be ridiculous,” I mutter as I take in my surroundings. The dark -fake- hardwood, the cream interior walls, the fancy lights that line the interior to give everything a soft, golden glow. A plush ‘U’ shaped couch that hugs around a circular table. A large TV opposite it. A kitchen with a fridge, cabinets, counter, oven/stove, and sink. 

We pass that area to find a little music room that has a guitar, a keyboard, and what looks to be some recording equipment. There’s a small couch in the corner of the area, with a fish tank imbedded into the wall. With actual fish. Brightly colored, living fish. 

“So, this pulls out into a bed. That’s where Charlie sleeps. She has insomnia and likes to watch the fish.” 

I honestly don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod. He leads me past a bathroom and through a door that retracts into the wall by a button. There’s a full-sized bed on each side up against the walls, leaving a space in between that can be walked through. There are cabinets and shelves above the beds.

“Gabe sleeps there,” he says, pointing to a bed with blue blankets and a ton of pillows. There are a few pictures taped up and some books on his shelves, as well as a pack of cigarettes and condoms. 

“Then this is where Chuck sleeps.” He points to the other bed, which is fluffy white bedding and pillows in all sorts of colors. One of them is shaped like a unicorn. Unlike Gabe’s space, Chuck’s is covered in pictures. Pictures of places, people, family, fans, the band. 

Castiel presses a button and another soundproof door slides out of the wall to reveal an entire bedroom. It’s a king-sized bed with the bedding in various shades of gray, with a black under sheet and black pillows. One of those huge knitted blankets everyone’s been going crazy over is tossed in a lazy fold at the end of it, the color a light blue that matches Castiel’s eyes. 

_Not that I would notice something like that. _

There are no pictures. Just a lot of books and little trinkets. A laptop. An acoustic guitar, the same one from last night since he already loaded up his things earlier. I think of last night and shiver, wanting nothing more than to slip back into those moments again and linger a little longer.

“This is my spot,” he announces, in case I couldn’t tell. I take a look around, trying really fucking hard not to imagine what he looks like sprawled out in that bed. Naked. Sleepy. Well fucked. 

“How,” I cut myself off, running my tongue along my mouth to make it less dry. “How’d you manage to get the room?”

“I’m too tall for the other beds. When we first got this, Charlie got the room, and us boys were rearranged. Chuck was out on the pullout and me and Gabe had the two beds. The damn cabinets at the end of the bed pissed me off, though. I was always kicking them. About a week into tour, we all decided to switch. Charlie said the whole girl getting her own room thing pissed her off anyway, and Gabe said he was annoyed with me swearing in my sleep all night.” Castiel shrugs. “Part of it probably has to do with the depression thing too, not that they’d say it. Sometimes I’ll spend all day here sleeping or just laying in bed.”

“Makes sense.” I look around the room again, and it suddenly dawns on me that I wasn’t shown an empty bed. “So, am I gonna be sleeping out on the U couch? Or?”

He sits on the edge of his bed and stares at the floor. “Uh, sure. If you want. That’s sort of the living space though so it might drive you nuts.” 

“Not like I have any other choice.”

“You could sleep in here with me.” He snaps his head up to look at me, surprised by his own words. He doesn’t backtrack, though. He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he just fixes those big blue eyes on me and waits. 

That same energy that surrounded us last night fills the room again. It feels like I’m drowning in air. The urge to kiss him comes back. I can’t believe I didn’t last night. I was so proud and pissed at myself at the same time. What was really shocking, though, was that he didn’t take the opportunity to kiss me. I thought he was going to. It felt like he was going to. He must not feel this… _thing_, that I feel. 

Or maybe he does, and thinks I’m straight. I scratch the back of my head, trying to calculate a response. The bed is plenty big enough. In fact, it’s almost wall to wall, so it must be at least a king. The issue is the temptation. 

Four long months of temptation. 

Four long months just like last night. Even worse, since we will be sharing the bed. “We can figure out the couch for you, don’t worry about it,” he finally mumbles, cheeks pink. 

“No.” I stop him when he tries standing up, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll stay here.” 

“Oh.” He looks relieved, but then he seems to catch himself and schools his expression. “Well, then, let me clear out a few cabinets for you.” 

\----

Naomi sits down beside me while we’re backstage in Portland. She hands me a coffee and smiles. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She looks at me in disbelief, and I chuckle. “No, really. It’s good. He’s been easy.”

“Well, don’t let him fool you. He’s just trying to figure you out so he knows how to play you. Just like the other day when he ran. Don’t let yourself get too comfortable.”

I want to tell her how wrong she is about Castiel, how he had every right to run that day, how Castiel has miraculously let me in, but she doesn’t deserve to know. I just give her a curt nod and say, “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

Fighting a smile, she asks, “Has he tried sleeping with you yet?”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “What? No.”

“Does he know you’re gay?” Naomi asks.

I think of last night, when he had asked me if I was straight. Why didn’t I just tell him the truth? Why had I gotten so damn scared? “No. I didn’t even know you knew.”

“Oh, I know all about you, Dean. I’ve had some digging done.”

“Great.”

“It is. You’re clean cut. No dark secrets or gray areas. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She looks out at the stage. From where we’re sitting, we can see Castiel singing perfectly. He’s in the middle of one of their most popular songs, _Stuck In Your Head_, with his foot up on a speaker as he bends to belt out the chorus to the crowd below him. The rip on the knee of his black jeans is stretching out from the position, showing his pale skin with all the black frayed material surrounding it. He’s waving one hand in the air to the beat of the song, just like the crowd is, and his smile is enough to melt my fucking boxers off. Add the worn-out shirt that he’s made into a cut-off – with the words ‘FUCK OR DIE’ on the front, and I’m not sure how I’ll make it through this tour. 

“Don’t sleep with him.”

Maybe she can tell what I’m thinking, or maybe she planned to warn me either way. I force myself to look away from the stage and back at her. She’s watching me with a worried frown. “Is that a part of my contract, or is that just advice?”

Her frown deepens before she smiles in a way that feels like she’s disappointed. “Just advice. Really great advice. From someone who knows him, Dean.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I shrug and give her a carefree smile. “I don’t plan on hooking up with him. He’s a bit of trainwreck.”

“That he is.” 

My stomach sours at what I said. It’s true, he is a mess. But who the fuck isn’t? I’m a trainwreck too, I just don’t have a large magnifying glass on me at all times. I know I could have defended him, but I don’t want Naomi to get any more suspicious. 

Still, I can feel the words lingering in my mouth. Sticking to my tongue. 

The song ends and Castiel turns for a bottle of water as the band drifts into the next one. His throat bobs as he swallows, creating a sexy as fuck curve that I want to lick. He takes a small towel that’s been hanging out of his back pocket and wipes his face, then stuffs it back in. He takes one step to return to his fans before catching sight of me watching him. He shoots me a wink, fast and barely noticeable, then turns to his crowd and starts on the lyrics of _Come & Get It. _

Naomi makes a noise in the back of her throat and I find her smirking when I look over. I don’t have to ask her what. She saw how I looked at him. She saw him wink at me. 

I sink down in my seat and grumble into my coffee cup, “Not goin’ there. Promise.”

She pats me on the knee, in a very patronizing gesture, and stands up. “Like I said, do what you want. But Castiel doesn’t do love or relationships. He uses guys to rebel and piss us off, unless he’s manic. Then he’s just in it for himself. He’s reckless, Dean. Don’t go giving your heart to someone that reckless.”

I watch her as she walks away, unable to stop myself from wondering what she would say if I told her my heart is already a goner.

** Castiel **

When everything is done – the concert, meet and greet, and interview with Rolling Stone – I nearly stumble to the tour bus, feeling dead on my feet. Charlie’s inside eating a bowl of cereal and watching Netflix on the TV. I fall down beside her and let myself spread across one of the three sides of the U couch. She pats my head, then grimaces when she feels that it’s still soaked with sweat. 

“Eww, didn’t you shower?”

“Fuck off.” 

I yawn, but I’m also hungry. 

When she sees me eyeing up her cereal, she glares at me. “Get your ass up and get your own damn food. And take a shower before we push off. You stink.”

This makes me laugh. My favorite thing about Charlie is she never treats me differently. Even on my worst days, she’ll call me an asshole and bitch at me. It’s how she shows love I’ve learned, and I appreciate it. The one thing I hate more than the babysitting I have to endure on tour is all the fakeness. Charlie is at least real.

She’s right, too. I do stink. And I’ll be sharing a bed tonight with Dean. That reminder is enough to launch me to my feet, grabbing a towel and a change of clothes. We can only use the shower when we’re hooked up at a venue, so I make it as quick as possible in case we’re about to leave. I dry off the best I can, my floppy hair still slightly damp, and pull on my baggy sweats and shirt. 

As I’m checking out the fridge, Dean enters the bus. He had walked me in here earlier, but I don’t know where he went after that. He must have slipped off somewhere quick while I showered.

He comes up behind me and looks at the contents of the fridge. After a few seconds, he says quietly, “Well, definitely not room service, that’s for sure.”

I smile at the reminder of our night on the roof. After I grab myself a protein shake, I let him at the fridge and go sit back down by Charlie. We’ve all been bingeing _The Umbrella Academy_, but since we made a promise to never watch it unless we were all present, she has _Grey’s Anatomy _reruns on. 

Dean doesn’t join us, instead going into our room. I chug my shake and put the cup by the sink, ignoring the smirk Charlie gives me at my hurry to follow him. He didn’t close the door, so I can hear him talking as I approach. 

“- just gotta relax. You need a night off.” Silence for a few seconds. “Listen, I’ll be in California on the 4th. Sacramento. Come see me.” Silence. “Please. I want to see you. I promise, I’ll make it worth your time.” Silence, then Dean chuckles. “I’ll buy you a room. See if I can get someone to cover me for a few hours so we can sneak away. Deal?” Silence. “That’s my boy. I’ll text you the info. And you’re coming to the concert, too, so try to pack something not so nerdy.” Silence. Chuckle. “Alright, whatever. Love you.” Silence. 

_Wait. No. I recognize that sound. _

_Yup, that was the sound of my soul being crushed. _

He’s confirmed gay, or at least bi, considering the ‘That’s my boy’ comment, but he’s not single, considering the making plans and flirting and the ‘Love you’. 

And Dean Winchester doesn’t seem like the cheating type. Not that I would want him to be. 

Entering the room in defeat, I climb onto my side of the bed – the side I made sure he knew was mine, because I like the air conditioning vent above it – and tuck myself in without saying a word. He sits perfectly still for a moment. Then he turns to me. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Oh. Okay.” He clears his throat. “You sure?”

“Dean, I’m fine. I just want to sleep.” 

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” I hear him rustling behind me. I hear the door close, his pants drop, fabric sliding over skin as he changes into a pair of sweats. No shirt. Then I feel him beside me, the mattress dipping. It’s a big bed, but I feel like he’s closer than necessary. Like he has extra space on his side, just to be close to me. 

_Stop, it, Cas. You’re not a homewrecker. _

I grit my teeth and force myself to fall asleep. It takes a long time. And it doesn’t happen until after he whispers, “Night, Cas.” 

\----

The awkwardness carries through the Portland concert, the two of us not saying more than necessary. The next morning he hadn’t even tried to talk to me. He just let me be a dick. If it worried him that I was acting so strange, it didn’t show. He just went back to professional Dean. 

When we got to Sacramento, I was in an even worse mood. Knowing that his boyfriend would be there pissed me off. When I found out Naomi would be sleeping in my room, as well as a guard, so Dean could have the night off, I was furious. When I overheard Naomi handing Dean the VIP pass for his guest, I went blank and started looking for alcohol. 

Gabriel was a no go. I didn’t even try with him. Chuck and Charlie were my best bet. They’re the ones usually on my side when it comes to Naomi and all the rules placed on me. They believe that everyone is too hard on me. 

“Aaay, Cas. Come in!” Chuck cheers when he opens his dressing room door after I knocked on it. I look around his room, seeing that he has a few people milling around. I don’t recognize any of them. He probably doesn’t either. “You just coming to chill?”

“I’m coming to do _shots_,” I clarify. 

Not even looking surprised, he grabs the bottle of tequila on his counter and starts pouring. We do two back to back. Neither of us thought ahead for a chaser, so I grab a handful of his m&m’s and stuff them into my mouth. It was a terrible idea, but whatever. 

I’m about to ask him if he has any drugs when he hands me a cup with something that smells awful inside it. “Drink. Enjoy.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Grinning, I put the cup to my lips and start to chug. It burns and tastes like death and makes my eyes water. I only get halfway through it before needing to stop so I can fight back a gag. He laughs and pats me on the back, then winks at me. “We’re on in twenty. Don’t go pass out somewhere. Naomi’ll shit herself.”

Laughing, I raise the glass in a toast to Naomi and then finish the rest of the drink. I hangout with them for another ten minutes before forcing myself to do my job. The clothes I’m wearing aren’t what my stylist picked out, so I need to change. 

When I open the door to my dressing room, I find Dean standing in the center of it with another man. He’s taller than Dean, which is saying a lot. Dean and I are the same height, which means he’s 6’1. This guy must have a few inches on him. And he’s massive. Broad and muscled. His long hair is pushed off his face and held there with a beanie. 

They’re smiling at each other.

I haven’t seen Dean smile like that the entire time he’s worked for me. 

“Mr. Novak.” Dean’s smile slips, and it kills me that I’m the one who did it. He gestures to the guy beside him. “This is Sam. Sammy, this is –” he cuts himself off, not sure what he’s supposed to introduce me as. He’s been calling me Mr. Novak or Sir since the other night – not that I like that, but I am the one who started giving him the cold shoulder first- but it’d be strange for his boyfriend to refer to me like that. 

Holding tight to the alcohol running in my veins, I offer Sam a hand and smile. “Castiel. Or Cas. Whichever.”

“It’s so great to meet you, man.”

“Yeah. You too.” I tilt my head to the door, not making eye contact with Dean. “I need to get dressed. You mind?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He puts his hand on the small of the man’s back and guides him out, closing the door behind himself. I turn and slam my hand against the wall. I shouldn’t be this bothered. But I can’t fucking stop myself. The moment I realized he was taken, I realized I wanted more. Hell, I think I subconsciously knew that before then. 

I need to let go, but I can’t. I’ve spent the last two nights lying awake beside him, trying to get over it, over him. It’s not working. 

Dean’s supposed to clear my room out of any complimentary alcohol, but he must be too distracted with his precious little Sammy because there are a few mini bottles set up in the corner of my counter. 

As I down the tequila, I wonder if Sammy knows about the sunset in Somalia. As I down the vodka, I wonder if Sammy knows that Dean can’t sleep. As I down the rum, I wonder if Sammy sees all the weight Dean carries, and how desperate he seems to be for someone to take it away. As I down the whiskey, I wonder if Sammy even knows the real Dean at all. How could he, and not see how lonely and sad the man is beneath it all?

With my head spinning, I tug on my favorite black jeans with the hole in the knee. My stylist, Kenny, laid out a shirt for me to wear with a red and black flannel over it. The flannel will be off within a few songs, it’s far too hot up there, but it reminds me of Dean. He had worn a gray and black flannel yesterday, and it made him look so hot I thought I would die on the spot. 

_God, I’m pathetic. _I just met his boyfriend, and here I am, still pining over the damn guy. 

“Castiel? You’re on in two.”

I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering what Sammy has that I don’t. I giggle to myself and answer out loud, “Oh yeah. Dean.” 

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is Lifelines by I Prevail. You can listen to it at the link below or on my spotify playlist!  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aq_5XtooL64
> 
> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10khFWbR12AXhX4HjqqSlw

**Dean**

Something’s wrong with Castiel. I know the minute he walks by me, heading to the stage. I grab his elbow and yank him back. He staggers and laughs. No, he _giggles. _

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe someone shoulda been doin’ his job, huh?”

I close my eyes, guilt flooding my system. “Fuck, Cas.”

“S’ Mr. Novak ta you.” 

I give Sam a look to move aside, and push Castiel into a little nook he had been standing in front of. As always, Sam is on the same page as me, immediately stepping back in place to hide Castiel and me from people walking by. 

“What are you doing? If Naomi finds out, she’ll cancel the tour.”

He scoffs. “Sh’s too mch offa pssy ta do that. No worry.”

The crowd starts chanting for the band, and I know everyone besides Castiel is on stage already. “Can you even go out there?”

“‘Ve play more fuckup more ‘fore.”

“Great grammar, there,” I spit sarcastically. “Seriously, can you do this? It’s better to cancel last minute for some made up reason than make a fool of yourself on stage and go viral.”

“Fuck’ff, ass shhole.” He shoves me off him. Well, he tries to. It ends in him just stumbling and giggling. But when he looks at me, anger flashes in his expression. “Go fuck yer boyfrien’.”

“My what?” I look over my shoulder at Sam, realization washing over me. “Are you kidding me? Did you drink because you’re jealous?”

“Has anyone seen Castiel?” 

“Here!” he yells before I can tell him not to. I have to let him go now. It takes everything in me to step aside.

Standing beside Sam, we both watch as he saunters on stage and yells the opening of his song. So far, besides his muscles being more relaxed and his movements slower, he seems fine. His lyrics aren’t even slurring. Maybe he knows them so well that alcohol doesn’t affect him when he sings. 

I stand and watch for three more songs. Naomi comes up beside me, and I can tell by just looking at her face that she knows. 

“Your shift didn’t end until after the show, Winchester.”

“I know.”

“How did he get booze?”

Knowing I’m about to be fired, I tell her the truth. “He went into Chuck’s dressing room. I should have gone in too, but instead I took the chance to give Sam a quick tour.”

“And the empty bottles in his room?”

My eyes slide closed. _Fuck_. I forgot to clear his minibar. “Naomi, I’m so sorry. I-”

“Save it.” She looks at Sam, then me, then at the stage. “He likes you. Or, at least, I thought he did. I didn’t expect him to pull this so soon.”

“He’s mad at me right now.”

“Why?”

I feel myself blushing. “He thought Sam was my boyfriend.”

With a huge sigh, Naomi shakes her head. “See, that doesn’t explain it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Castiel would have just shrugged you off and moved on. This is different. Something else must have happened.”

“Oh.” I should be relieved by that, but I’m disappointed. I had hoped that I actually meant something to him. When I thought he was jealous, I let myself get excited. 

I watch as Castiel takes off his flannel and hands it to a fan that’s pressed up against the stage. His foot slips and he heaves forward. All three of us hurry toward the scene, but the crowd catches him, and it comes off as an intentional crowd surf. Still, my stomach is in my throat. 

Naomi shakes her head. “Go get him, Dean.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I feel for my gun, making sure it’s in the right spot, before making my way toward the audience. Pushing through the crowd, I track Castiel with my eyes. People move for me when they see my badge. Or maybe when they see the look on my face. If it matches how I’m feeling at the moment, it’d scare even the strongest of men. 

When I reach the group currently moving Castiel along, I make eye contact with one of the guys about to grab him and shake my head. Then I step forward and take him in my own hands, the others helping me guide him to the floor. Someone yells at me that they’re supposed to surf him back to the stage. I give them a look that makes them actually step away from me. 

With Castiel’s arm in my hand, I lead him back toward the stage while he finishes up his song. He’s out of breath, his words starting to slur now. Hopefully people just think he’s disoriented from the surfing. 

We reach the stage just as the song comes to an end. I give the band a look, and they start to improvise, Chuck stepping forward and fucking around with his guitar, not actually ending the song but moving it into a guitar solo. I take Castiel’s mic from him and hand him a bottle of water. He wavers on his feet. Instead of the laughing, pissed off guy from earlier, he looks scared. 

“Gotta get off,” he tells me after he swallows the drink I make him take. 

“You’re only halfway through your set.”

He looks at me and shakes his head. The movement makes him dizzy and he starts to fall over. “Gotta get off,” he says again. 

“Fuck. Okay.” I start to lead him off, but he shakes his head and takes the mic back. Forcing a smile, he tells me he has it. Before I can argue with him, he’s putting the water bottle on the floor and pulling the stool it was sitting on toward the center of the stage. I watch him in confusion but slink backstage so I’m out of sight again. 

“What’s he doing?” Naomi asks.

“No idea. But he’s not good up there. We gotta end this early.”

“Goddamnit.” She starts muttering under her breath, but stops when she hears the guitar solo come to an end. 

There’s a moment of silence as I watch Castiel get handed an acoustic guitar. He seems steadier now that he’s sitting on the stool. His mic is on a stand that’s lowered in front of his mouth. “Alright, guys. We’re ‘bout halfway through the show. Thought I’d slow it down if ya’ll don’t mind.”

Everyone cheers and screams, letting him know they don’t give two shits what he does. He strums the guitar a few times and chuckles into the mic. It’s not drunken like before, but deep and sexy. “This one’s a favorite of yours. Thought I’d show ya the original version.”

Someone screams, “I love you!”

He keeps his fingers moving, strumming out chords, as he grins. “Love ya too.” 

Then everyone goes wild. He plays a few more notes before falling into a melody. Naomi sucks in a breath and whispers under her breath, “Holy shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He’s singing _Lifelines_.”

“He sings that every show.”

She shakes her head. “Not this version.”

The melody repeats, and he begins to croon into the mic. 

_When I open my eyes and see the lines that live on the life I left behind_

_I feel disconnected from the place that I call home_

He continues to sing, his voice soft. Low. Almost fragile.

Instead of the usual burst of sound from the band as Castiel moves into the chorus, Gabriel just quietly joins in with some soft piano notes.

_Cut up into pieces, looking for a reason_

_Who’s gonna be there to make me whole?_

Castiel finishes the chorus, his voice rising in urgency. Then he moves into the next part of the song, which is usually sung in his gravelly voice. Fast. Angry. Unhinged. As he sings it slowly instead, letting every emotion pour into the words, I feel my heart clench. Castiel never tells anyone what _Lifelines_ is about. He’ll talk until he’s blue in the face about his other songs, an open book, but the moment someone brings up _Lifelines_, he shuts it down. He doesn’t have to tell me. After the parts of his life he shared with me, and the things I’ve been able to figure out on my own, I know. As I listen to his words and the emotion, I know. This is the story of his dad finding out. Of the aftermath. 

With the final note of the song, the crowd seems to hold their breath. Then the entire arena explodes. I can actually hear the soft sigh of relief from him. 

“Thanks for that, guys. ‘Preciate it.”

Everyone yells back, a lot more ‘I love you’s’ coming at him. He drags the stool away and takes another sip of water, then turns back and announces the next song. The band leads into it and he starts bobbing his head, one leg shaking. 

Naomi shakes her head in disbelief. Then she turns to me, her expression unreadable. “What are the two of you doing to each other?” 

“What do you-” she walks away, leaving me to stand where I am without any sort of explanation. I look over at Sam, who is confused but also amused. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me you were falling for the kid.”

“I’m not.” I try to bark the words with some authority, but it doesn’t hold. His laughter makes that clear. To change the topic, I gesture toward the stage and say, “What a song, though, hey?”

“For real.” He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Dean, I think maybe you should work tonight. Whatever is going on with the two of you. Whatever that just was for him. I think it’d be better if we just did breakfast tomorrow.”

I turn to him, trying to hide the relief I feel at his words. The idea that Castiel was going to be alone tonight – any night, but especially after this night – was making me sick. “Are you sure? We were gonna grab drinks and catch up.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. We’ll catch up over breakfast. I promise, I’m tired anyway. It was a long drive and I had class today, remember?” He gives me his signature Sammy smile. 

“You’re staying for the rest of the show, though, right?”

He laughs. “Oh yeah. I’ve got twenty on him not making it through.”

I look back at Castiel, who is starting to look a little sloppy again. Sam doesn’t know him, though. Just like everyone else, he underestimates him. “Twenty says he even does an encore.” 

\----

The band does the normal version of _Lifelines_ as an encore, since it’s such a popular song. Then Castiel pushes right past me and heads outside, skipping the meet and greet. Probably for the best anyway. I make sure Sam has a ride to the hotel with Naomi and follow Castiel, barely catching him before the car pulls away.

When I slide in beside him, he stares at me in confusion and annoyance. “Aren’t ya off duty?”

“Not anymore.” 

“Boyfrien’ must n’ like tha’.” He huffs a laugh. “Can’t say bothers me, though.”

“Sam isn’t-”

“I don’ care wha’ Sam is.”

“He’s my brother.”

Castiel stares at me for a few seconds as his drunken brain tries to register and confirm that. Then he closes his eyes. “Shit. He must think Imma wreck.”

“No. I told him you’re dealing with personal stuff. He gets that.”

“I ruined yer night with’im.”

“No, we still had a good time.”

He waves me off. “Go. Go be with him. Promise I’ll behave.”

“Stop, Cas.”

“No, I’m so sorry. You should-”

“Hey,” I grab his hand he’s waving, which makes him fall silent. “I want to be with you tonight. Okay?” 

He nods. “Okay.”

For the rest of the trip, we ride together holding hands in silence. As we pull up to the hotel, the car is bombarded with paparazzi. That hadn’t happened yet for us on this tour. Usually, the paparazzi were bored of waiting by the time the band arrived. He grumbles something about _fucking Lifelines _and ducks his head. I stop him from getting out of his side, opening my door instead. It takes them all a second to realize he’s on the opposite side, but then they’re swarming us as we walk.

“Castiel, why did you sing the original tonight?”

“Castiel, tell us what _Lifelines_ is about!”

“Castiel, what inspired you to write _Lifelines_?”

“Castiel, were you drunk on stage tonight?”

“Castiel, are you seeing someone?”

“Castiel-”

One hand on my gun and the other on Castiel’s back, I guide us until we pass hotel security and enter the quiet lobby. He relaxes against me, and I know he must be pretty drunk and exhausted, so I let him. I even wrap my arm around him when we’re in the elevator. 

He has his own suite again, or more accurately _we_ have our own suite again, and when we enter it, he clings to me. “Sleep with me.”

“That’s not a good idea. For a lot of reasons.”

“No. Not sex,” he slurs, frustrated with me for not understanding. “Sleep. Jus’ sleep. No wan’ be ‘lone.”

My heart melts, and I nod. If he asked me to jump out the window right now, I think I would. I’d very much so consider it at least. 

I help him out of his clothes until he’s just in underwear. He doesn’t even seem to register it.

After I’m stripped down to my boxers, I climb in beside him. We lay just inches away from each other. Close enough to feel the heat of one another, but far enough to ache for touch. 

“Your version of _Lifelines_ tonight was beautiful.”

Eyes closed, his lips lift into a sleepy smile. “Thanks.”

A song like that doesn’t just come from the mind of someone bored and writing lyrics. A song like that comes from deep, dark, embedded pain that’s fresh and breathtaking. I want so badly to ask the ultimate question. To ask him if it’s about his dad.

I don’t want to take advantage of him, though, because it’s extremely clear he doesn’t want to ever share that. So, instead, I ask the other question nagging at my brain. 

“Why did you get so upset thinking Sam was my boyfriend?”

“‘Cuz I wan’ you.” 

He says it so simply. Not seductive. Not teasing. Not even full of meaning, like he’s confessing anything of significance. It’s like he’s telling me the weather. 

“Just for sex?” I ask, hearing my own fear in my voice. 

“No. For your heart.” He turns onto his side and scoots closer to me, his hand resting on the center of my chest. Then he giggles, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “Tha’ was super corny.”

“I don’t care. I liked it.” 

He pulls back, resting his chin next to his hand and looking up at me with a drunken smile. “Really?” 

“Really.” I brush curls off his forehead, loving that it makes him shiver. “I like you. A lot. I want to be with you.”

“Even if it means secrets?”

I take a breath. It’s not something I ever considered. The last time I was in the closet, I was thirteen. Unlike Castiel, I had a pretty easy coming out. The only person who had an issue with it was my dad, and he was willing to educate himself and come around to the idea. Even my friends at school didn’t care, a perk of being a jock. I was lucky. 

Can I really go back to that feeling of fear and anxiety? Can I really return to looking over my shoulder before kissing? To telling people I’m single? To introducing him as a good friend instead of my partner? 

“Secrets for how long, Cas?”

He looks shocked that I didn’t straight up tell him I wasn’t willing to deal with that. I watch as emotions play a slideshow through his eyes before stopping on fear. “I dunno.”

“Gotta give me more than that.”

“I-” he licks his lips and tries to look away. I grab his chin and pull him back, forcing his eyes to meet mine. The fear is nearly frantic now. Desperate. 

“Take some time. Think about it.” 

The moment he registers my words, his fingers dig into my chest and plasters himself to my side. “No. Gimme a chance.” 

I chuckle, cupping his face with one hand. He leans into the touch, nuzzling my palm, and looks up at me with wide eyes. “I’m giving you a chance. I’m just saying that I don’t need an answer about how long right this minute. I’m willing to wait. Just not forever.” 

He nods frantically, then pushes up and places his lips against mine. I grunt in surprise before melting into the kiss. It’s drunk and sloppy, and he’s shaking with nerves, but it’s the best first kiss I’ve ever experienced. 

When we pull apart to breathe, he tries to touch my cock that’s clearly pushing against the fabric covering it. I stop him with a gentle hand. “No sex, Cas. Not yet.”

“Not tonight, or not yet?” he asks with a pout. 

I wince, but remain honest. “Not yet.”

“You don’ - you don’ want me?”

“Of course I want you. I just – there’s no need to rush it.” What I really want to say is I don’t fully trust myself yet. I’m scared I’m going to fall for him. The shadow of my own mother. 

I’m terrified Castiel will end up just like her. 

“Guess I can wait,” he mumbles. He cuddles into my side and throws a leg over one of mine. We fit together so perfectly.

I pull the blankets up and hold him closer, my hand cradling the back of his head so my fingers can play with his curls. He hums and relaxes into me, falling asleep within seconds. I lay awake for hours.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song Castiel is writing in this chapter is Scars by I Prevail. Listen to it below at one of the two links!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZzL4jI60p4
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10khFWbR12AXhX4HjqqSlw

**Castiel**

My day has been so chaotic, Dean and I haven’t had a moment alone since we woke up this morning, running late and rushing out of the room. Being in Los Angeles for the next two days, where a branch of our record label is based, means constant meetings, interviews, and meet and greets. Apparently the label execs are demanding we show them one of our new songs for our next album tomorrow, which would have been nice to get a heads up on instead of being told this afternoon.

I eat dinner pouring over the leather journal I use for songwriting, trying to figure out _something_ to write. They won’t care if the band isn’t smooth or if we mess up a little, because that’s not what they’ll be assessing tomorrow. Tomorrow, they’ll be assessing me. My lyrics. The tone I’m setting. The kind of sound I’m going for. How my voice is holding up. 

All on me. 

Dean keeps giving me smiles from across the room, or quick winks. When we rode in the SUV together, I could tell he was fighting the urge to slide over to me. To kiss me. When I go to change for the concert, I’m nearly shaking with adrenaline. Finally, we get a minute alone in my dressing room. 

I’m even excited enough to grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him the few feet it takes to get inside. We stumble together, laughing, but his face straightens out, and his body tenses a few seconds before I can realize why. Then I see Gabriel standing there, looking amused and scandalized. 

“I’ll, uh, leave you two be,” Dean mutters, sounding completely unlike himself. He hurries out and closes the door without looking back.

“That’s interesting,” Gabriel says in a slow drawl. Now that Dean is gone, his main expression is worry. “You’re flirting with fire, baby brother.”

“He promised to keep it a secret for now.”

“For now?”

I walk past him, knowing I need to get dressed. “He’s giving me time to figure out if I can come out. If not, well, I guess he didn’t specify what happens if not. But he sounded pretty uncomfortable with the idea of being together secretly.”

“But he didn’t give you an ultimatum or anything like that?”

“No. He was really understanding.”

Gabriel hops up on my counter, legs dangling. He watches as I take off my shirt and pull on the one that’s been laid out for me. The silence between us is meaningful and about to burst. 

It takes until I’m dressed and tying my shoes that he finally gives in first. “Come out, Cas. Let yourself be happy.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Chuck’s out.”

“Chuck isn’t the face of the band. He’s never once been asked in an interview about his sexuality. No one fucking cares. How do you think they’ll treat me? Think they’ll just shrug it off?”

He looks away, angry. “No.”

“Exactly.”

“So? Fuck ‘em. When they ask, say ‘fuck yeah I am. Wanna see my sexy ass boyfriend? Here he is’ and then walk away like it didn’t bother you.” He hops off and grabs my arm. “They can only make it as big as you let them.”

“And our fans?”

He shakes his head. “I think we’ll be surprised to find a lot of them won’t give two shits. And the bigots? We don’t fucking want their money anyway.”

The knock on my door catches our attention. Someone gives us the five-minute warning. I look at Gabriel, seeing that he isn’t dressed yet. “You gotta go.”

“Not until you promise me that you’ll at least think about it.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good.” He pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back. “Proud of you baby brother.”

For the next few minutes, I feel great. I feel ready. Then I take the stage, and every doubt and fear comes swimming back. I need space to think and breathe. I need to be myself for a little while, drop all the pretenses, and figure out what I really need. What I really want. And what I can really handle. 

My greatest fear is that the three don’t line up. 

The moment Dean slips into the bathroom after the concert, I slip out the back door to the alley. My driver steps forward, ready to open my door for me, but I wave him off and slip around the dumpster so I’m hidden by it. He’ll probably rat me out, but it buys me time at least. Hurrying up, I pull out my pack of cigarettes and light one. 

It’s misty outside, so I make sure to keep my cigarette tucked behind my thigh. A group of fans take the corner, laughing and talking shit. Clearly drunk. I pull my hood over my head and take another drag. 

“Come on, man. Let’s go to the bars.”

“It’s a Wednesday night, Nate.”

“Yeah, not all of us are unemployed.”

“I’m not unemployed, assholes. I’m laid off.”

The entire group besides the man who must be Nate laugh. They pass by me, and one of them stumbles to a stop. “Hey, man. Can I use your lighter?”

_Fuck_. I take a breath to steady myself and lift my chin, pulling my lighter out of my pocket. He recognizes me the second our eyes meet, and the look on his face matches his ‘Oh, shit!’ that he yells. 

“You’re fucking Castiel Novak!” the man who I still think is Nate adds. 

“Yeah, can ya keep it down?” I ask in a stage whisper. The last thing I need is the entire alley to flood with fans. 

“Oh, sure man. Sure. Yeah.” 

I hand the guy my lighter, and he lights a joint instead of a cigarette. 

_Double fuck. _

“Nice to meet you guys. I need to head in.” 

“Wait, come on. Your cig is barely smoked. Stay for a minute.”

“Yeah, we’re cool. Just chill.”

Eyeing their joint, I settle back against the wall and nod. It won’t kill me to be next to them for a minute. There’s no paparazzi around. No cops. Plus, it’s not like I’m the one smoking it. 

Yet. 

They pass it around the group, all still talking shit to each other like they were before noticing me. It’s kind of nice. They continue to harass Nate, and I find myself chuckling at their interactions. They remind me a lot of the band, actually. Laid back, funny, and don’t give a fuck. 

Nate passes me the joint. He doesn’t even offer, just assuming I’ll take it. And I do. _What will one hit do?_ Nothing. I’ll be lucky if I even get a buzz from it. 

I suck in a large breath and hold it in my lungs, passing it to the next guy while waiting a few more seconds. Then I lift my head to the sky and blow up. It’s strong enough stuff to make my head rush for a second. I’ve missed that feeling. What I miss even more is alcohol. I’ve been itching to drink all day. 

“Any of you got a flask?” 

“No, man. We’d never do that.”

“Yeah, we know the rules.”

“We aren’t assholes.”

I laugh. “I seriously don’t care about the rules. I used to sneak flasks into every concert I went to.”

The guys exchange looks, then the guy beside Nate pulls out a silver flask. He shakes it and smiles. “It’s whiskey. Want some?”

“Fuck yes.” I laugh at how desperate I sound. “My damn manager’s been up my ass about drinking. You guys are lifesavers.”

“Saving Castiel Novak’s life? That’s my kind of night.”

I laugh and take a swig of the whiskey. It feels so damn good that I follow it up with a second. Then I chase it with a puff of my cigarette and hand the flask back. It’s my turn for the joint. _What will two hits do? _Not much. So I take another pull. 

Then Nate asks, “Is it true that you’re dating Ariana Grande?” 

“Dude!” Two of them scold in unison. 

Another tells him, “Not cool, bro. We promised to be cool.”

Laughing, I wave them all off. “No, no. It’s fine. We aren’t dating. Just had a fun night back in Vancouver together.” 

“Damn. Fun night is probably an understatement.”

They whistle under their breaths, make comments about her body, and laugh. I just smile and take the flask when it’s handed to me. There’s no reason to correct them. Let them think what they want. 

I take another drink from the flask. Just as I’m handing it off to the guy to my left, I catch someone standing just a foot or two away from us. Tall. Muscled. Glaring. Pissed. 

Dean’s arms are crossed tight over his chest, biceps bulging from the plain black t-shirt he’s wearing. In the darkness of the alley, he looks menacing and even sexier than usual. If we were alone, I would be pushing him up against the building and showing him how menacing and sexy I can be. 

_Shit, maybe I am a little fucked up. _

“Gotta go for real this time, fellas. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah! Yeah, you too!” 

“Wait, can we get a picture?” Nate asks, holding his phone up. 

I nod, turning my back to Dean because he’s shaking his head no. We all gather together as he snaps the picture. 

“Can I see it quick?” I ask him. He hands it to me, and I zoom in on it, scanning the picture for any trace of the flask or the joint. Nothing. Just a group of guys in an alley. In fact, you can’t even tell it’s an alley. “Cool. Well, you guys have a great night.”

They all yell for me to do that too. I push past Dean, about to head inside. He grabs my bicep and squeezes tight. The driver to the SUV opens the door, so Dean must have given him a look or gesture. Dean drags me to the vehicle and pushes me into the backseat. When we get inside, he growls, “You had me fucking worried.”

_Woah_. I’m honestly shocked. Sure, I knew he was pissed, but he’s so controlled and cool-headed all the time. And after the night we had, I thought he’d be more understanding. 

“I just wanted a cigarette. They came along.”

“There a reason you needed to ditch me to smoke a cigarette?”

“Is that not in my contract?” I ask in surprise. “Naomi doesn’t let me smoke.”

His anger shifts focus. “What the fuck? Why?”

“Not good for my voice.”

He rolls his eyes. “She clearly doesn’t know the history of rock and roll. Jesus. Most of the greats were smokers. Cash. Cobain. Page.”

I shrug a shoulder. “I doubt Naomi even listens to rock music besides us. Whenever I’ve walked in on her jamming out, it’s T. Swift and shit like that.”

“Well, you can fucking smoke with me. Okay? Don’t go running off to smoke. I’ll let you smoke. It’s not in the contract.”

“Oh.” I nod, feeling like an idiot. “Okay.”

“Wanna explain the rest now?” 

“What do you mean?” His eyes just narrow at me, and I realize fast that this is not the time to push him. “They offered the joint and I just figured, what could it hurt? Then it sort of rolled from there.”

“Don’t act fucking stupid. You know what drugs and alcohol do with your medication.” 

I feel my face flush, anger coursing through my veins. “I’m not a fucking child. It should be my decision.”

Instead of saying anything, he looks away from me. His hands are visibly shaking in anger. 

When his phone vibrates, Dean releases a frustrated sigh. He pulls out his phone and reads the screen, brows pulled in. He types out a quick message and stuffs it back in his pocket. Instead of acknowledging the answer I had given him, he puts his elbow on the door and rests his cheek on his fist, staring out the window. I wait for him, thinking he’s just formulating his thoughts, but he remains quiet. His phone even buzzes and he ignores it. 

When we reach the hotel a few blocks away, he opens his door and gets out without talking or looking at me. I slide through and flinch when the door slams shut. He takes me by the arm again and hurries us into the building, ignoring the lady at the front desk when she greets us. The elevator is so full of electricity I’m afraid to even breathe. Once the doors open, it’s like he can’t get us into our room fast enough. He marches me straight to the bathroom and pushes me into it, eyes on fire.

“Shower. You smell like fucking weed.” 

“I don’t have clothes to change into.”

“I’ll bring you some.” 

“Dean, why are you so-”

He shuts the door before I can finish asking my question. I stare at it for a minute, wondering if I should wait for him to bring me the clothes or not. If he’s going to be an asshole tonight, then so will I. He can deal with seeing me naked. It’s not like it bothers me. 

I strip down and turn the water on. With some wishful thinking, I decide to clean myself thoroughly just in case. By the time I’m completely rinsed off, Dean still hasn’t brought me any clothes. Growling in frustration, I wrap myself in a towel and leave the bathroom. 

The second I’m in the bedroom, my anger evaporates. He’s standing at the edge of the bed with his fists on the mattress, bent at the waist with his head hanging. I can clearly hear the ragged breaths he’s taking. 

I walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. His green eyes squeeze shut as he tenses beneath my touch. 

“Don’t.” The word is husky as he growls it at me. But there’s desperation beneath it. Like the last thing he wants is for me to _not_ touch him. So, I keep my hand where it is. And he doesn’t tell me to move it again. 

After a minute of the charged silence, I ask, “What did I do?”

He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. Since he still doesn’t answer, I ask in a new way. “I mean, I know what I did. But why are you so upset about it? It was one slip. It won’t affect my meds.”

Shaking his head, he stands up straight. My hand that was on his shoulder slowly slides down his arm before stopping on his wrist. He looks at the place I’m touching him, then his eyes travel to my waist where my towel is starting to loosen from its wrap. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, but when he finally meets my eyes, he’s pissed again. 

“Are you worried about getting fired?” I ask softly. 

Scoffing, he looks away from me. “No. Naomi doesn’t know I lost you, and I got you out of there before anyone saw you smelling like fucking whiskey and pot.”

“That’s good, then. Right?”

“Good?” He backs me up against the wall with a growl. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“I was smoking a cigarette.”

“In a fucking back alley in L.A! By yourself.”

“Jeff was there.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, you mean the seventy-year-old man that drives your fucking car? Yeah. He would have been a huge help.”

“I was fine.”

“You,” he stops, closing his eyes again. Both of his hands are on the wall beside my head, arms locked so I’m trapped in. It’s making him lean forward, so his shirt isn’t clinging to his stomach like usual. I take advantage of the situation, and of him being distracted, and slip my hand beneath the fabric. The moment my skin touches his, he hisses between his teeth and snaps his eyes open. They’re so green I have to blink and look again to make sure they’re real. 

For a few seconds, I let my hand stay where it is, giving him time to push it away. Then I start to navigate the dips and curves with my fingertips. He groans and closes his eyes again, head hanging on his neck. “Fuck, what are you doing to me?”

“Wrong question. You should wonder what I plan on doing to you.”

He laughs, but it’s not out of humor or amusement. It’s angry. I think at the both of us. 

Sure enough, he snaps and grabs my hand. In a smooth move that has me impressed, he has both my wrists in his grip, holding them above my head against the wall. His other hand does some exploring of his own, dragging up my bare side and across my chest. He follows with his eyes as he looks at every tattoo. 

“They could have hurt you,” he whispers, close enough now for his warm breath to fall on my neck. 

I shiver and push into his touch. “They didn’t.”

“But they could have. A group of guys in a back alley, Cas. That’s fucking dangerous.”

“What’s life without a little danger?” He grunts to acknowledge my comment. So I push another button. “You won’t fuck me, so maybe I should have asked one of them to.”

A fierce growl rips through him. He pulls me away from the wall just so he can push me back against it, this time my back to him. My towel falls down, and he groans before resting his clearly hard denim-covered dick against my ass. I push back against him, smiling when I hear him whimper. Yeah, this guy is totally a needy bottom. He just doesn’t know it yet. 

The man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wonder if I’ll be the first one to relieve him of it.

He pushes me harder into the wall and grabs my hair, pulling me back to expose my neck. I can’t help but smile as I allow him to act like he’s in charge. This is a balancing act. If I push too fast, he’ll back off right away. 

“Tell me somethin’ Cas,” he whispers in my ear. “You like to be fucked hard? Held down? Told what to do? ‘Cuz I like men who are willing to give up all control, just for the privilege of having my cock in their ass.” 

Every word is laced with that same tight restraint as when he’s being professional, giving him away. The dominant side of him is just another one of his masks. A persona he slips into. No one should have to be something they’re not in the bedroom. 

I need to set him free. “You like it rough, Dean?”

“You have no idea.” 

“See, I’m not sure if I believe you.” I chuckle, because I can almost feel his confusion through the way his muscles move. “I don’t think you like it rough. At least not like that. I think you’re tired.”

“Tired of what?” he spits out. 

“Tired of this, Dean. Tired of being in charge. Tired of having to make sure everything is okay. Tired of saving the world. Tired of keeping yourself knotted up in a tight ball of control. I think you’re begging for someone to come around and take all that off your hands.”

He’s silent for just a breath too long, and when he responds, his voice is weak. “You don’t know shit about-”

Taking advantage of the fact that he’s clearly thrown off and unsettled that I’m figuring out something he may not have known yet himself, I shove away from the wall. It makes him stumble back, but I grab him by his arm and use his momentum to push him into the position I was in earlier, his back against the wall, our fronts just inches from each other. 

I take his hands in my one and pin them above his head just like he did to me. With my free hand, I undo his belt and the button of his jeans, pulling them down to the middle of his thigh so he’s just in his boxers. My cock bobs against his, only the thinnest of fabric between them, and he makes that same whimper again. His hips buck forward and he looks at me with wide eyes. Full of fear. Full of amazement. He has no idea what’s happening to him, but he likes it. 

Wrapping a hand around his throat, I squeeze the sides gently, just enough to make his ears go fuzzy for a second. He makes a noise between a choked cry and a filthy moan, his body going lax under my hold. The next time our eyes meet, his are drowning in need and vulnerability. And he’s fucking panting. 

“Yeah, you don’t wanna hurt me, do you, Dean? You don’t wanna be in charge. You don’t wanna tell me what to do.” I squeeze again, smiling when he makes the exact same noise. His hands flex where I’m pinning them against the wall, but he isn’t fighting my hold. It’s almost like he’s just reminding himself I have him there. Trapped. Controlled. “Dean? I asked a question.”

“I-” he closes his eyes, cheeks turning bright pink. 

“You don’t know what you want, do you?” Unable to answer, he just shakes his head. I push his boxers down and let his bare cock slide against mine. His knees weaken, but I pin him with my hips to keep him upright. “Want me to tell you what you want?”

After a shaky breath, he opens his eyes and whispers a needy little, “Yes.” 

That’s when it hits me that I don’t want this to be a secret. I want this to be genuine. I want to prove to him that he’s worthy of that. Because in his eyes I see the answer I had been searching for. He’s never been truly taken care of. This man has never trusted someone. Not enough to let go. Not enough to be vulnerable. Yet, here he is. Beneath my hand. Begging me to explain to him why he feels the way he does right now. 

He looks away from me, clearly nervous that I haven’t spoken yet. I tighten my hold on his throat and force his face back to mine. He relaxes into the new position, accepting it. 

“You’re lonely,” I whisper to him, making sure my voice is full of love and kindness. “I think you’ve gone a long time trying to be the strong one, and that meant not letting anyone hurt you. Not giving them the chance. Have you ever trusted someone with your heart, Dean? Anyone?”

“No.”

“But you want to. I can feel it. You’re desperate to be taken care of, aren’t you?” His only response is a choked noise. My hand is just caressing his throat, so I know it has nothing to do with my physical hold over him. That noise came from somewhere inside his mind. A place he’s kept locked up far too long. 

His eyes find mine and he pleads with me, his head shaking ever so gently. “Please, Cas.” 

Knowing what he needs, I cover his lips with mine and give him a break from having to talk about it. Right now, he’s too worked up to analyze, which is fine. He doesn’t need to do any thinking right now. All he has to do is trust me and listen. 

“Do you trust me?” I ask against his mouth.

He starts shaking against me. “Yeah. I do. I trust you.”

“Good.” I give him one more kiss before stepping away from him. When he loses all points of contact from me, he whimpers and reaches a hand out. I step farther back and shake my head, grinning. “Strip for me.”

“What? No.” 

“Strip. Nice and slow.” 

Raising an eyebrow at him, I patiently watch him go through a myriad of emotions. I know this is still a lot for him to wrap his head around. Someone like him, so used to control, is bound to have a hard time giving into something like this. 

I’m willing to wait. 

**Dean**

My heart is beating so hard in my chest, I worry it might give out. That’d be a shame because as terrified as I am right now, I really want to see if I can do this. I didn’t lie to him. I do trust him. And I want him to show me what it feels like to be taken care of. He makes it sound amazing. 

He’s waiting patiently, not looking annoyed or angry that I’m freaking out over here. To calm myself down, I take a few seconds to appreciate my view for the first time since his towel came off. I’ve seen him shirtless a few times already, but watching that dark, curly happy trail travel all the way to that gorgeous dick of his makes my mouth water. 

Speaking of that dick, I have no idea how it’s going to fit in me. I’ve had bottoms say that before, panic in their eyes, looking at me with a nervous smile. I always laughed. Said something confident and reassuring, like ‘don’t worry baby, it’ll fit’. Now I feel like I should go apologize to all of them because that sentence does _not _make me feel any better. At all. 

It feels like he’s exposed me. Flayed me open and pinned me down for all to see. The part inside of me that’s always been there, that’s always tried to nudge me in this direction, is basically shoving me toward him now. Begging me to let go. Give in. Fucking be happy for once. The part of me that’s worked its ass off to stay in control at all times, to protect myself, is telling me to get my fucking shit together and dominate this kid. 

“Hey,” Castiel whispers, voice low and calm. I snap my eyes up to his. _Did I fuck up already? Did I take too long? He seemed so patient. He said I could trust him. He said he’d_\- “Hey, shhh, relax.”

I feel his hands on my arms and notice that I’m violently shaking. I didn’t mean to be. I want this. Really. “Sorry.”

“No apologizing. Take your time. Just calm down and breathe, okay?”

Doing as told, I relax against the wall and suck in air. He smiles as he watches me release it. Then he kisses me, softly, and rubs his nose against mine. “Strip for me, baby.”

I nod, more than ready now. He steps back, and I strip with trembling hands. This time, though, I’m not shaking out of fear or anxiety. I’m shaking in anticipation. 

When I’m finally free of my clothes, he rakes his eyes along my body, looking pleased with the results. “You’re gorgeous.”

I can feel myself blush but bite my tongue to keep from trying to turn the tables on him. At least this once, I’ll do it his way. Then go from there. 

He puts a hand out for me to take, and I place mine in his palm, relaxing when his fingers wrap around me. One hand rests on my hip to hold me in place while the other hand cups the back of my neck, deepening the kiss until I’m dizzy and panting. I don’t even notice that his hand on my hip is moving to my ass until he’s squeezing a cheek, making me whimper into his mouth. He chuckles. 

I’m distracted by how sexy the sound is and before I know it, he’s grabbing my thighs and hauling me into his arms, turning us so he can toss me on the bed. If it were possible, I think I would’ve just came. I’ve never imagined being manhandled by a man in bed. If you would have told me a week ago this would be happening, I would have laughed my ass off, then gone searching for someone to fuck to reassure myself. 

He lowers his naked body over mine, and our cocks brush together. I hiss and squirm, trying to get more friction. “Want me to fuck you?” he whispers into my ear before darting his tongue out and licking it. I gasp and kick out a leg. It’s one of my sensitive spots. 

“Dean?”

“Huh? What?” 

“I asked if you want me to fuck you?”

My body reacts to his words. I bow my back and nod frantically, groaning a ragged, “Yes.” 

“Yes what?” When I look at him like he must have gone crazy, he dips his chin and looks down at me with a cocky smile. “Tell me what you want. Exactly what you want.”

“Fuck you.” I’m spitting the words out at him before I can stop them. My eyes go wide, expecting him to be pissed, but he just laughs and shakes his head. 

“No, Dean. You will not be fucking me. I’m gonna be fucking you.” I shiver at the calm dominance in his voice. He’s so sure of himself. 

Maybe that’s why I feel confident enough to admit, “Yes. Want that. Want you to fuck me.”

His eyes close and he groans, a dirty grin pulling his lips up. When he looks at me again, he starts grinding our dicks together, swallowing my moans with a filthy kiss. 

“Safe word. Yours. What is it?” he pants between kisses. 

“Don’t have one.”

“Pick one.”

I shake my head, my mind reeling. “Can’t.”

Everything stops. His body no longer touches mine – no grinding, no roaming fingers, no kissing, no licking. I whine and open my eyes, trying to figure out what happened. He’s looking down at me with a serious frown. 

“Baby, I can’t fuck you how I plan to fuck you if you can’t give me a safe word.”

Growling in frustration, I tell him the generic one I know I’ll remember in the moment if it’s needed. “Red.”

“Good.” He kisses me gently, then whispers against my lips, “Yellow to slow down or backtrack, got it?” 

“Got it. Got it.” I grip his hips and yank him hard against me. “Now fuck me.”

His arm goes flying out somewhere and then he’s making a frustrated sound and pulling away. 

“Two seconds. You stay.” He eyes my cock, which is leaking against my stomach. “Don’t touch yourself.”

I scoff. “You can’t control if I touch myself, asshole.”

“Wanna bet?” 

The way he says that makes me immediately shake my head, self-preservation setting in. I don’t know if he’s the kind of guy that’s into bondage and spanking, or the kind of guy who will just punish me by saying he won’t fuck me if I don’t listen. Either one makes me feel like I’m burning up inside. I’m not willing to push the subject, though, so I cling to the sheets while he disappears on me. 

When he reappears, he’s clutching a bottle of lube like a trophy. Control freak me starts panicking, running in circles with his hands waving in the air. Real me feels beyond safe and warm. I tell control freak me to fuck off. 

Castiel sprawls out on top of me. He places a hand beside my head, hovering above me so he can peer down and smile. “Good boy.”

I shiver. “Thanks.”

“You get a reward.” He kisses me. I open for him instantly, our tongues tangling together. I think this is the reward, but I’m mistaken when a warm and well lubed hand closes around my cock and gently strokes it twice. 

“Ooooooh, fuck.” 

“Mmmmm.” He pulls back again, staring down at me. “I’m tempted to make you come just like this, but that’d be no fun, would it?”

I shake my head no, my hands coming up to cling at him. He’s finally pushed me over the edge. I’m all in now. I want him inside me. 

“What do you think, Dean? Should I make you come on my cock? Or should I finish you like this?”

“Wanna come-” I stop myself. There’s no doubt which one I want, but telling him? Saying the words out loud? That’s terrifying. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. 

“Tell me, Dean. Use your words and tell me how you wanna come.”

“Cas, please.”

“Shhh,” he strokes me faster, bringing me closer to the edge. 

_No. No. No. Don’t want to come like that._ “Stop. Gotta stop.”

“Why? Don’t you wanna come like this, baby?”

“No.” He slows his hand until it’s barely moving along my shaft. The fact that he just smirks at me, not even giving me the dignity by asking once again how I want to come, makes me so fucking hot. He knows I’m going to say it. He already figured out how to control me. “Fuck. I need you inside me. Wanna come on your cock.”

His grin is electric. “That’s it. Good boy.” 

I whimper at the loss of his hand on my cock but end up moaning a few seconds later when the newly slicked hand is placed in my crack. He nudges my knees apart with his shoulder and orders, “Feet flat on the mattress.”

My body doesn’t even wait for my mind. It just listens. He traces the tight pucker between my cheeks and I throw my head back, trying not to choke on the intense pleasure just that small touch creates. Without any sort of warning, he pushes a finger inside me. I come off the bed and wiggle my hips, trying to escape the burn. His body falls over me to pin me down as he works the finger deeper. Then he’s adding another one, grinning down at me as the movements pull filthy moans and pathetic whimpers from me. That burn is quickly turning into white hot pleasure, and I’m ready to fall apart. 

When he pushes in a third finger, he turns them to a certain angle and pushes on my prostate. I try to bow my back again, but he’s still holding me down with his body. I grunt in frustration, trying to fight him. My mind is going to mush and I’m panicking. This is too good. Too good. Too much. He could do anything to me. I have to stop. Have to turn him over and take charge. 

“Hey!” I ignore him scolding me, using my hands to try and push him off me. He takes his fingers out of my ass and straddles me before I can actually gain the upper hand. In just a few seconds, he has both my hands pinned above my head, being pressed down into the mattress hard enough for me to feel bruises forming beneath his fingertips. “Calm the fuck down, or I’ll tie you up.”

“Cas-” his name comes out so choked and afraid, I start to cry. It’s such a relief. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve cried. 

“Oh, baby. You’re gonna break my heart.” He presses a kiss to my lips, then starts kissing my tears away. The whole time, he’s whispering and hushing me. “Shh, baby. I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just give into it. I have you. Shhh. You’re safe.” 

I fight his grip on my hands and whimper, “Yellow.” He immediately lets me go. The moment I’m free, I cling to him, digging my fingers into his back and holding him as tight as possible. He kisses my temple and I can feel him smile against my skin. “That’s it, Dean. You’re okay. Let me take care of you.”

Not trusting my voice, I nod to let him know I want that. I want that so bad. He locks our mouths together and brings his hand between us, me loosening my grip on him just enough to create space for him. His fingers don’t return to my hole, though. Instead, I hear the rip of a condom, then the soft click of the lube bottle and the distinct wet sound of someone lubing their cock up. 

A moment later, his thick head is pressing against my opening. “Let me in, Dean.”

My legs begin to shake, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I tell my body to relax and do as told but it’s fighting me now. He brings his lips to my ear and whispers, “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t let go.” 

With a broken cry, I release the breath I was holding and let my muscles relax into the mattress. He gains entrance and slowly presses forward. By the time he’s halfway inside of me, I’m whimpering and writhing against him, out of my mind with need. 

This. This is what’s been missing. My entire life, and I didn’t even fucking know it. Castiel knew, though. He knows everything I need. Hell, he _is_ everything I need. 

Oh, god, I hope this lasts with him. 

He bottoms out inside me and swirls his hips, brushing against my prostate. I choke and cling to him, using my feet that are planted on the bed to thrust up, trying to make him move faster. Harder. He just chuckles and puts more of his weight on me to keep me down. 

“Oh, please. Please, Cas.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Please fuck me.” I scratch my nails down his back, and he groans. “Please. Need. Need. I need-”

“I know. Don’t worry ‘bout it. I got you.” 

Trusting him, I relax and let him move at his own pace. He’s been right so far. Might as well continue to let him do his thing. 

Except, he stays slow for so long. Just languidly fucking me. Taking his time. Making me feel every hot, heavy inch of him. Frustrated, I wrap my hand around my cock and start pumping myself, feeling my orgasm just within reach even though he’s not fucking me like I need him too. It’s right there. Just a few more seconds. 

“Hand off,” he orders, stopping his movements completely. 

“Wait. Wait. No.” I bob my hips frantically, trying like hell to get him to move. 

“If you come right now with your hand on your cock, you’ll be really fucking sorry baby.”

“Nnngh.” I screw my eyes shut and force my hand to let go and return to holding Castiel. He still isn’t moving like I need him to and I don’t know how I’ll come without my cock being touched, even if he was fucking me hard. 

He shifts his weight and pulls out. Our eyes lock and he gets the sexiest little smile on his lips before he thrusts back into me. I scream – yeah, actually scream, shut the fuck up and stop judging control freak Dean – and my breathing catches as he continues to pound into me over and over again, brushing just the edge of my prostate every time. 

“Oh. Oh. Oh, god. Cas. Fuck, Cas. I’m-”

“Yeah, baby. Go ahead. Come on my cock. Show me what a needy little bottom you are, coming untouched on nothing but my fat cock stuffed inside you.” He adjusts his hips ever so slightly and hits my prostate dead on this time. “Come for me, baby.”

I whimper a soft, “Cas-”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

It’s all I need to let go, his words making me melt completely. I do as told, showing him exactly how needy I am. How much I love being a bottom. How much I love to be dominated. I explode all over myself, still unable to suck in a full breath, my head swimming with pleasure and lack of oxygen. His hips stutter against me and a few seconds later he’s filling the condom inside me, cock as deep as he can get. 

My eyes close and I start to feel myself float. Instead of the rush of panicked thoughts I believed would bombard me, I’m left with a calm emptiness. My only repeating thought is Castiel’s voice saying two words. _You’re safe._

\----

When I open my eyes, I feel exhausted and heavy. Very heavy. For a moment, I just try to gain my bearings. The dark room. The bed. The body against mine. I shift to look up at Castiel to find myself in his arms, being held with my cheek against his chest and my arm wrapped around him. A tattoo of a broken angel is beneath my hand. I don’t remember getting here. My heart starts to race. 

“Calm down. You’re just coming out of subspace.” 

“I – what?” 

“Shhh. Just breathe and relax. I’ll explain in a minute.” He kisses my forehead and tightens his grip on me. Then his hand comes up to wrap in my hair, softly playing with it, caressing me. His other hand that’s resting on my bare hip starts tickling small circles onto the skin. I shiver and melt back into him, forgetting why I was even panicking in the first place. 

After he holds me for a while longer, placing soft kisses on my hair and forehead every once in a while, he whispers, “How ya feelin’?”

“Weird.” I can’t stop a smile. “Good.”

“Mmm, good.” 

“What’d you say happened?”

He kisses my forehead, then locks his eyes with mine. I lift my chin so I can see him better. He looks nervous, like he doesn’t want to explain what happened. If I wasn’t feeling so sated, I’d worry about that. But he wanted the control. Now he has it. I don’t want it back. So I just relax and watch him, waiting patiently for my answer. 

“So, I’m not super into BDSM. I mean, I’m a dominant fucker, and I’m all for tying you up and spanking you and maybe playing with some toys. And you obviously have a kink for breathplay. But I’m not heavy into it. Like you can call me Sir, and that’s hot, but I won’t demand that. And I don’t want you to be my sub, I just want you to be submissive in bed.” He says all of this very fast, almost panicked. Like he’s defending himself. “I knew you were submissive, I mean you were practically screaming with need to be controlled and cared for, but I had no idea. I had no idea how submissive you are. You practically sang for me. You were complete putty.”

“Is that,” I stop, looking away from him because I feel like an idiot. “Is that bad?”

“No. Oh, god, no. It’s a fucking dream. You’re perfect.” He takes my chin and turns my face so I have to look at him. “Hey, you were perfect. You’re my dream. I don’t care how cheesy that is. You’re everything I’ve ever imagined wanting, both in and out of bed, and that scares the fuck out of me, but I don’t want you to run, because I’m not running. I really want to give this a real try, Dean. I want to be with you.” 

“I wanna be with you too.” I shift, still confused. “I still don’t get how that explains what happened.”

He nods. “So, I’ve had guys go into subspace before, but it was always after a really intense scene. But there are some people, who are just so submissive, or who click with a certain dominant so much that their body gives up control like the flick of a switch, that they go into subspace after something more vanilla. Like what we did. That was pretty vanilla compared to what I want to try out with you in the future. But I understand how big that was for you. To finally, after all your life, let yourself unravel. And when you did, you trusted me enough that you went into subspace.” 

“You keep saying that.”

“Subspace?” I nod. “Sorry. It’s hard to explain other than, that’s what you felt. It’s different for everyone. What did it feel like? What was the last thing you remember?”

I bite my lip, trying to remember. Then I look away because I feel silly. “Hey, now. None of that. Please tell me.” 

“I dunno.” I shrug a shoulder, but he must know I’m going to tell him because he doesn’t push. Just waits. “I felt weightless. And like everything was fuzzy and warm. And-” I stop, looking up at him, wanting to see his face when I admit the next part. “I felt safe. Really safe.”

He practically puffs up with pride. “Good. Because you are, with me, Dean. You’re so safe. I promise you. You’re safe with me, always.”

Closing my eyes to let myself appreciate how good that feels, I nuzzle against his neck and cling as tight as I can to him. I’ve never been a cuddler, and that was a terrible decision on my part. This is fucking amazing. This whole thing is. Then again, I’m kind of glad I waited. It feels good that this is with Castiel. It feels right. 

“That feeling of safety told your brain it was okay to shut off. To finally take that break you’ve been desperate for. That’s subspace. It’s an actual science, but I’m not a sciency person, so if you’re curious you’d have to google it.”

I laugh. “Nah. As long as I get to feel that again, I don’t care what my brains technically doing.”

“You wanna do that again? As in subspace?” 

“Yeah.” I put my chin on his chest and look up at him in wonder. “It was scary. Not so much when I was first going into it, because I didn’t really care about anything at that point, but coming out of it was scary. I didn’t remember getting here. I didn’t know how much time had passed.”

He nods. “I get that. I promise any time you slip into it, I’ve got you. One hundred percent. I cleaned you up and had you drink some water, then wrapped you up and held you because you seemed cold.” 

I stare at him, my mouth going dry, and my heart racing. “You did all that?”

“Yeah. Don’t be scared,” he hurries to say. “I know that’s scary, to not remember it, but I promise-”

“Shh,” I lean up so my lips are next to his, kissing him with everything I have. He lets me take control of it, our mouths slanting together, my tongue exploring his mouth. When I finally pull away, we’re both breathless. “I wasn’t afraid. I just felt – cared for, I guess. To hear you say that you did those things. To know that something like that can happen, that I can give up everything, and you’ll handle it. You’ll take care of me. You have no idea how good that feels. It makes me feel really safe. And l-” 

I actually clamp down so hard I bite the tip of my tongue. We stare at each other, both wide eyed. Part of me hopes he doesn’t know I was about to say it made me feel loved. Part of me hopes he figured it out so it can be over with and I never have to actually say it in the future.

He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, knuckles bumping along my cheekbone and jawline. This his thumb brushes across to rest on my bottom lip, the pad of it pulling at it. 

“You felt loved,” he whispers. 

“Yeah.” I feel my cheeks heating up, but with the way he’s looking at me, and the way his thumb is pulling and stroking my lip, I can’t look away. 

“Makes sense.” His eyes leave my mouth to meet my gaze. There is something floating in them that I’ve never seen in him before. Some new vulnerability. “Because I think I’m in love with you.”

All I can do is close my eyes and smile. The exact same thought had been trying to escape the back of my mind, begging to reach the surface and be heard, but I had been too afraid of it. We’ve only known each other a few days. It’s crazy. People don’t fall in love that fast. 

Then again, what we’re doing together, whatever this is, it’s life changing. I’ll never be the same. So, it’s not too soon. I can feel it in my soul that this is where I’m supposed to be. This is the version of myself I’m supposed to be, and he’s the man I’m supposed to be that with. 

I open my eyes, wanting to be looking into his when I nod and say, “I think I’m in love with you too.” 

He releases a breathy laugh, then grabs me hard and pulls my face to his. He whispers a rushed, “Oh, thank god,” before kissing me again. We fall into each other for a long time, barely even coming up for air. By the time we pull apart, my lips are numb and tingling. I feel floaty again. Not like with the subspace, but more like just an overly happy feeling. Like nothing in this entire world could make me feel bad right now. 

My eyes flutter shut, exhaustion kicking in. My muscles ache like I ran a marathon today, and my mind keeps fighting me to shut off again. A yawn spreads my lips apart, and I hear Castiel chuckle when he hears it. I don’t even have the energy to open my eyes and look at him. I just mumble incoherently and wiggle so I’m more firmly pressed against him. 

“Get some rest, baby. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” I ask, even though I already trust that he wouldn’t lie. It still feels good when I hear his voice rumble a soft, “Promise.” 

I don’t think I could fall asleep without a smile on my face, even if I tried. 

**Castiel**

Even though I’m completely exhausted from the best sex of my entire damn existence, I’m wired. Dean was more than I expected. He’s everything. I know he’s willing to work with me, keep my secret, but I’m not willing to make him do that. Not after tonight. Not after realizing I’m in love with him. 

I try to get myself to fall asleep, but nothing works. I’m too restless. After I feel that he’s slipped into a deep sleep, I carefully unwrap my arm from around him, guiding him onto his back from where he was laying on me. His hand falls off me without tensing and he doesn’t make any noises or movements. He just continues breathing soft and deep, pink lips parted ever so slightly. All I want to do is wake him up and go again, but he needs his rest, and I need to write. 

My song journal isn’t anywhere I can find, and I realize that it probably got left with all my other things when Dean made me leave the way he did. Naomi would have it, and I doubt she’d appreciate me waking her up at three in the morning to ask for it, so I settle for the hotel pad of little papers to write notes on and the hotel pen. Then I snatch up my guitar and head to the opposite side of the suite, not wanting to wake him up. 

There’s a window bench with cushions to sit on and throw pillows to rest against. I lay myself out on it, looking out over the city. For a while, I just mess around on my guitar, trying out different melodies with a few of the lyrics I have stuck in my mind. Once I find one that fits with the words, I write down the string of notes to remember it and begin writing lyrics, starting with the ones I came up with when lying in bed with Dean while he was in subspace, tweaking them here and there to flow better with the melody of what I’ve now decided will be the chorus. 

_In the heat of the moment_

_When fear has you frozen _

_You’re crashing and burning, when life’s at its coldest_

For a while, I just play the chorus, fiddling with different ways to say words and altering chords. While I fine-tune it, I let my mind drift to last night. The way Dean looked at me with so much trust and love. The way he had moved beneath me, writhing and moaning and desperate. The way he had listened, even when every instinct was trying to get him not to. 

I’ll never be able to go back after tonight. It’s time to come out, to settle down, and to let myself be genuine and happy. No more excuses. No more trying to run. 

The sun starts to rise over the city and I realize with the morning light that I’m crying. It’s not from sadness or pain, but from relief. Catharsis. With every word, every chord, I gain clarity. I gain freedom. Gabriel was right. Fuck those who won’t support me. I don’t need them anyway. I don’t need anyone but Dean and my band, my makeshift little family. 

_Don’t forget your life’s your own, don’t ever let it go_

After finishing one of the run-throughs, I catch movement in the corner of my eye. I look over to find a sleepy Dean in nothing but boxers, leaning a shoulder against the opening to the room, arms crossed as he watches me with a smile. When our eyes meet, his smile grows. 

“You’re writing again.”

“Yeah.” I grin at him. “Guess I finally got inspired.”

“Good.”

“Good morning, by the way,” I tease.

“Good mornin’... babe,” he whispers, looking unsure of the nickname. 

Wanting to make him feel secure that last night wasn’t a fluke, I put my guitar down and stand up, walking toward him. “How’d you sleep, baby?”

Relief softens his entire body. “Really good. Better than I have in years.”

“Good.” I take his face in my hands and kiss him gently. When I try to pull away, he chases my mouth and puts a hand on the back of my head to keep me from retreating. Chuckling, I let him take what he needs. Which is apparently a lot this morning. We don’t break apart again until he has me pressed against the wall, the two of us breathless. 

He releases a breathy laugh, blushing hard. “Sorry. Missed you.”

I shake my head, smiling. “You can kiss me like that any time you want, baby. I missed you too.” 

“Any time?” 

“Any time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “In private, right?”

“No.” I grin at him, my excitement starting to bubble over. “I’m coming out today.”

“Cas, that’s-” he stops, speechless. I watch a million emotions flutter through his eyes before he settles on guilt. “Don’t do it for me. I can wait.”

“I’m doing it for me. I deserve to be happy. I _want_ to be happy. With you.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

His face lights up, and he grabs me, spinning us with my feet off the ground. I laugh as he celebrates, the sound cut short when he drops me and abruptly takes my mouth. I moan into the kiss but turn the tables on him quickly, pinning him against the wall. He tries to turn us again, and I shake my head, making his head move too since our lips are locked. I take both his hands and pin them above his head, then use my free hand to grip his neck. Not hard. Just enough to help him remember his place. 

He starts panting into the kiss, body trembling. I rub my hard cock against his, silently cursing the fabric between them.

“You hungry?” I ask, pulling away to look at him. 

“For you.”

With a wicked grin, I remove my hand from his throat and push down my boxers. His eyes lock onto my cock and he licks his lips involuntarily. I take his hands away from the wall and separate them, letting each hang at his side. 

“Turn around.” He does so immediately. I take his hands again, holding them together against his boxer-clad ass. When I let go, he stays still, not moving a muscle. I back away enough to grab his VIP lanyard, then come back and tie it tight around his wrists, smiling when he grunts at the fabric digging into his skin. I tug at it, not because I think he will fight it, but to make him pause and feel that level of control I have now. He whimpers and bucks his hips forward, trying to find relief against the wall.

Chuckling, I order, “Turn again.” He listens, green eyes wide as he watches me. I kiss him, long and slow, as a reward. Then I place my hands on his shoulders and push down ever so slightly, an eyebrow raised. Without needing to be told, he sinks to his knees, eyes staying on mine instead of looking at the cock now bobbing less than an inch from his face. 

_Such a natural. _

I comb my fingers through his hair and smile at him. “So good for me. So perfect.”

He shivers, his eyes fluttering shut. I drag the pad of my thumb along his bottom lip and groan when his tongue darts out to lick it. 

“Someone desperate for a cock in their mouth?” I tease. 

His cheeks burn red but he nods frantically, opening his eyes to plead with me. “Yes. Please.”

“Yes, what?” He looks down in concentration, eyebrows pulling in. I continue to play with his hair, soothing him as he works it out. His fingers fiddle behind his back anxiously but he doesn’t look defeated. He looks determined. That’s why I don’t answer for him. 

After just a few seconds, he puffs up with pride and looks back at me. “Yes, Sir?” 

I get down on one knee and grin at him. “Good boy.” 

He shivers under the praise, then melts when I reward him with another kiss. When I pull away, he chases me. Not to kiss again. Instead, he just nuzzles against my cheek, humming in happiness. My chest fucking explodes. “God, I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too. So much.” He smiles, then hurries to add, “Sir.”

Chuckling, I place a kiss on his forehead. “Only call me Sir when it applies to sex. You and me? This love? Relationship? That’s for Cas and Dean. Deal?”

He relaxes and nods. “Deal.”

“Good.” I stand up and grab my cock with my hand, guiding it to his lips but not touching them. He opens wide and whimpers when I don’t fill his mouth. “Now, try this again. What do you want, baby?”

“I-” he hits that same self-conscious spot as last night, anxiety and embarrassment flashing in his eyes. Instead of letting him dwell on it, I grab his chin between my thumb and index finger and tug upward so he’s looking in my eyes.

“What do you want, baby?” His face flushes red, and he fidgets, shifting his weight on his knees. I take my hand from his chin and move it to his hair, grabbing a chunk and yanking hard enough to make him yelp. “Tell me. Now.”

“I- I want your – your cock in my mouth, Sir.”

“Say it again.”

“I- I want your cock in my mouth, Sir.”

“Again.”

“I want your cock in my mouth, Sir.” He’s panting now, so turned on his pupils are dilated. “Please. Please, Sir. I want it so bad. Want your cock in my mouth.”

“Good boy.” I loosen my grip on his hair and slide my cock between his soft, pink lips. He moans, eyes rolling back in his head, as he opens wider and relaxes for me. The amount of my cock he takes before he gags is amazing. “Fuck, baby. You can almost swallow me whole.”

He shivers and nods, trying again as he forces me further into his mouth. Choking himself on my cock. Holding himself there even though he can’t breathe. Just staring up at me, green eyes watery and full of trust. 

“Jesus. You’re so perfect.” I stroke his hair, gently pulling him off me enough for him to breathe. He sucks in air through his nose, eyes fluttering shut in relief. I continue to play with his soft hair as he relaxes. For a while, I just keep us like that, me comforting him as he keeps my cock warm. 

When he finally blinks his eyes open again, I give him a smile and start to rock my hips. His tongue moves against me as he sucks and massages my cock the best he can. I tighten my grip on his hair as I get closer to finishing, fucking his mouth in earnest. He chokes and sputters, but any time I start to pull away too much, he chases me. Desperate for me not to stop. 

“Should I come in your mouth, baby?” I ask, even though he can’t speak. Even though it’s not up to him. My question makes him moan and nod frantically. He doesn’t blink or look away from me as he relaxes his throat, letting me slide the deepest yet. I feel him swallow around me and throw my head back. All I have to do is exhale, and I’m coming down his throat. 

He swallows everything, then licks me clean before letting me slip from his mouth. I grab his biceps and guide him up to his shaking legs. After his hands are free, I take them in mine and walk him backwards until he’s falling onto the bed. 

He watches me with heavy lidded eyes as I wrap my own mouth around his cock and swallow him down. Spit from my mouth spills out and I catch it with my finger, rubbing it until the digit is nice and wet. Then I bring it down to circle his hole. He jumps and then melts, moaning as I gently push inside him. Less than a minute later, he’s coming undone for me. 

I push his body up to the top of the bed so his head is resting on a pillow. Then I join him, pulling the blanket over us. 

“Wha’ time’s t?” he slurs, already falling back asleep. 

Smiling, I kiss him on the forehead and hush him. “Don’t worry about it. The alarm is set. Let’s just get some rest, okay?”

He nods, keeping his eyes closed as he wiggles closer to me and wraps his body around mine. “Love you, Cas.”

“I love you, too. So much.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Dean**

Sam meets us at a restaurant a few blocks away from the hotel. The previous day had been too busy for us to get together, so he had stayed an extra night and caught up with some old friends from his time as an undergrad. I asked him if it was okay if I brought Castiel to our rescheduled breakfast this morning, after filling him in on the non-explicit happenings of the past 12 hours. He had laughed his ass off at me for being in denial, then told me to absolutely bring him. Castiel was just as excited. They both couldn’t wait to meet the other. Properly this time. 

“Are you sure about this?” I ask Castiel a final time before we leave the SUV. “There’s no way we’ll get through this without paparazzi.” 

He gives me a smile that has no trace of anxiety or concern. “Let ‘em look.”

I shake my head, unable to stop my own smile. “Naomi is gonna kill us.”

“Eh, she’ll be fine. I don’t want to come out all official and awkward at some press conference. I want it to just happen.” He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “Come on. This place is supposed to have the best waffles in the entire city.” 

I open my door first, scanning the area and touching my gun at my waist to make sure it’s covered. We have two other security guards coming with us and they get out of their own SUV when they see me. Castiel crawls out next, adjusting his slouchy beanie. I can’t help but grin at how sexy he is, especially since that’s my red and black flannel he’s wearing with his white shirt and tight black jeans. 

We walk into the restaurant, the two guards behind us a few steps. The hostess helps us to the table where Sam is already sitting near the back. As we walk through the place, eyes start to lock on Castiel. I feel him tense next to me but his steps never slow. 

Sam stands up when he sees us, and I lean over, hugging him. When I pull away, I turn to Castiel so I can reintroduce them. I’m relieved when I see that he’s not panicking.

“So, let’s try this again,” I joke, making both of them laugh. “Cas, this is my goofball little brother, Sam. Sammy, this is-” I stutter to a stop, forgetting that we hadn’t discussed this part. The labels. The definitions. 

Castiel picks my sentence up after just a breath, finishing it with a smooth smile as he offers his hand to Sam. “Cas. Dean’s boyfriend.”

Knowing how big that is for the two of us, Sam’s eyes light up. Then he’s grabbing Castiel and hugging him instead, making us all laugh again. 

We take seats across from Sam and relax, chatting about the morning weather and traffic as we scan the menus. The waitress comes over and takes our order, lingering when she talks to Castiel. He laughs at her jokes politely but the minute she’s gone, he looks at me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know she doesn’t do it for ya.” I wink at him, which makes Sam groan and release a fake gagging sound. 

“Can we not talk about what does it for him? Ignorance is bliss,” Sam grumbles.

Castiel tilts his head back and laughs. It’s so free and happy. It’s the first time I’ve seen him experience a moment like that in public. Right now, even with eyes on him, he’s still the real Cas he usually hides. It makes me want to kiss him, but I settle for reaching beneath the table and squeezing his knee quick. When I try to pull away, he tangles his fingers with mine and holds me in place. 

Not even looking at me, he smiles at Sam and asks, “So, you’re in law school, right?”

“Yeah. Stanford.”

“How’s that going?”

“Amazing.” Sam leans forward, getting excited. “I’m in my year of electives. I’m taking a course on Human Rights, and another on Gender and Sexuality Law. And I’ve gotten some great pro bono opportunities. And I’ve been interning at the District Attorney’s office, which has been a great experience.”

Instead of looking bored or annoyed at Sam’s long-winded answer, Castiel grins ear to ear. “That sounds fantastic. Those classes must be fascinating.”

“Oh, they are. Last week-” he starts in on another round of talking, hands flying through the air as he goes. I zone him out and turn my attention to the window on our left, looking out to see a group of paparazzi growing. When they see me staring, cameras flash frantically. I start to pull my hand away from Castiel, even though they probably can’t see beneath our table, but he tightens his grip. 

I force myself to ignore them and return to the conversation at my table. It’s hard now that I’ve noticed, though. Every time a camera flashes, my anger grows. 

“Dean? Dean?”

“Huh? What?” I look at Castiel, then at Sam, who was the one talking. “What?”

They both look at me with concern for a moment before Castiel asks softly, “Sam was saying you don’t usually take jobs like mine.”

“Oh. Yeah. I usually don’t, no.” 

“What kind do you take?”

I make eye contact with Sam and he flinches. We’ve never kept secrets, so he knows everything. At least the general basis of everything. He doesn’t know many details. Those I don’t share with anyone. Benny only knows as much as he does because he was there with me for most of the missions, only missing my final two years once he left the SEALs. 

Just because Sam knows those things, though, doesn’t mean I want Castiel too. At least not yet. Not on day fucking one of our relationship. _Fuck_. 

“If I’m able, if I can afford to, I take,” I pause, looking down at my coffee instead of at Castiel. “I take less _conventional_ cases.”

“Meaning?”

“There are a lot of people who can’t pay the fees necessary for Benny’s services. He waves everything except paying the bodyguard, and if the bodyguard also waves their salary, or agrees to a reduced amount, then he still accepts their job.” 

“Oh.” Castiel smiles, squeezing my hand. “That’s wonderful, Dean.”

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. If I stop now, he’ll find out eventually, and then this will be a lie. I will have started our relationship by lying. By keeping something from him. 

“These kinds of cases, these people-” I pause, running a hand down my face. Then I force myself to look him in the eye. “They rarely need Benny’s services for the reasons wealthy people do. They usually don’t have stalkers, crazy fans, blackmail, assassins. They aren’t high powered politicians or celebrities or anything like that.” 

“Okay?”

“They have children or significant others who were kidnapped and sold to sex traffickers or the slave trade. Or they’re being targeted by a psycho ex-abuser. Or they got in over their head with the cartel, or have family who have. Or they or someone they love was kidnapped by a terrorist organization while backpacking with friends overseas. Shit like that.”

Castiel shakes his head, not understanding. Or not wanting to. “Isn’t that what the SEALs deal with? And other groups like that?”

“Not often enough. It takes a lot for them to get authorization. There’s a hierarchy of needs, of priorities, and I get that. But it’s frustrating as someone with all those skills and all that knowledge and all the weapons and underground networks you know about and connections you have. When Benny created the company, he started trying to pursue those cases we never got to in the SEALs. When he hired me, he offered me the same opportunity.” I look into Castiel’s eyes, hating what I see there. “I took your contract because it’s more money than ever before. After this, I’ll be able to spend a few years pro bono.”

“No.” Castiel looks at Sam with wide eyes, then at me. “Absolutely fucking not.” 

“Cas.”

“No.” 

I glance around, noticing we’re dangerously close to causing a scene. “Listen, that was before this. Before us. We can talk about how things will change, okay? It’s not something I’ve considered yet. It’s something we’ll need to figure out.”

“No. No figuring out. You won’t do those things. No.” He lets go of me and buries his face in his hands, shoulders slumping. I can almost see him spinning out of control. It was relieving for me to give up control last night, and this morning. The best feeling in the world. But I had always secretly desired giving it up. Having the luxury to trust someone enough to take over. He doesn’t have that. He doesn’t want to give it up, and he probably doesn’t trust me to handle things if he did, since I’m the one being an idiot and putting myself in danger. 

He’s teetering on the edge of panic. 

“Cas. Please. Believe me when I say that what I had planned doesn’t matter anymore. My entire life has changed because of you. So, don’t worry about all that.” 

His body trembles slightly as he tries to calm himself. I turn my body so he’s blocked by the windows and place my hand on his knee again. “Please. Babe.”

“Dean Winchester, I’m so unbelievably pissed at you. Stop talking.”

“Babe-”

“Dean.” He snaps his head up, eyes narrowed and full of rage. They’re full of lust, too. Need. Desire._ Oh, fuck._ “I’m serious. Before I take you into the fucking bathroom and bend you over the sink. Shut. Up.” 

My face heats up and I look at the table, not wanting to meet Sam’s eyes. Unfortunately, though, that brotherly pull takes over, and within seconds I’m glancing up at him. He looks shocked, but also amused, with one eyebrow raised as he smirks at me. I mouth _fuck you _and his grin just widens. 

When I feel Castiel’s hand on mine again, I look over to find him staring at me with that same intensity as before. Except it’s controlled this time. He’s easily restraining himself once again. That promise in his eyes lets me know it won’t stay that way once we’re alone.

I shiver in anticipation. 

“So,” he says after a deep breath, replacing his smile and looking at me, then Sam. “Sam, what are you up to for the rest of the day? Headed home?”

  


**Castiel**

Absolutely infuriated, I ignore Dean after breakfast during our ride to the hotel. He tries to talk to me, but I pull my phone out and call one of my managers from the label confirm the band’s appointment later that afternoon. Then I call Naomi and tell her I need to see her the second we get to the hotel. 

When we get into the lobby, Naomi is already waiting. Which means I once again don’t have to look at my boyfriend. With Naomi present, Dean slinks back into his role as a guard, keeping his distance and staying completely silent. 

“What do you need to discuss, Castiel?” Naomi asks carefully as we settle into the band’s suite. I told her it was fine for them to be around, so we’re all now seated in the ample living space there, everyone staring at me. 

Still too pissed to look at Dean, I decide to look at Gabriel for strength instead. He instantly realizes what’s going on and sits up straight, grinning. Still looking at him, I take a deep breath, and inform Naomi, “I plan on coming out.” 

She’s silent, so I take a chance and look at her. Her smile is almost as wide as Gabriel’s. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” I shift in my chair, fighting the urge to turn to Dean. “I don’t want it to be a statement or something all clinical like that. I want it to just happen when it happens. I’ll no longer be careful or secretive, and whenever it catches on, it does.”

Her eyebrows pull in. “I’d prefer if it was more controlled than that.”

“No. No straight celebrities have to do this shit. None of them have to publicly announce they’re straight. They just start walking around holding hands and kissing people, and it goes from there. That’s how this is happening. I just thought I’d give you the courtesy of knowing so when it does happen, you’re prepared.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. Do you have any idea when this will be happening? I mean, are you,” she pauses, and her eyes flick for just a second to Dean. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Yeah.” I stand up, impatient to get this day over with so Dean and I can be alone. “It’ll probably happen in a day or two. That enough time?”

“Of course. What does, uh,” she looks at Dean again, then me. “Does your partner have any requests? Or do you have any requests regarding them? Privacy or if someone calls for an interview or anything like that?” 

I just stare at her, annoyed. It’s not her fault. These are legitimate questions. But I’m still so pissed at Dean, at the idea that my own money is going to help him put himself in grave danger, that I can’t be here right now. I feel ready to burst. “I dunno. Talk to him.”

“Who is-”

“Your new fucking security guard.” I start walking to the door, pausing before I reach it. I turn around to find everyone staring at me. “Give me a new guard so I can go smoke a fucking cigarette. I don’t want him coming along.”

Dean’s face ripples with pain. “Cas-”

“Don’t. I have to be at an interview with a radio station in forty minutes, and I need to be in a better headspace. Give me a minute.” I watch him flex his fists at his side, physically fighting himself. He’s silently pleading with his eyes, so I look away from them. Still, I can feel him from here. I can feel him breaking beneath my anger. 

_This isn’t how you treat the man you love, Cas. This isn’t how you treat a sub, either. He gave you everything last night. He gave himself to you. Get your shit together. _

I close my eyes and suck in the deepest breath possible, then blow it out. When I look at him again, I feel my head clear. “Never mind. Come with me.”

He immediately listens, leaving everyone behind confused and staring. We walk down the hall to our suite, and I can actually feel him vibrating with fear even though we aren’t physically touching. I open the door with one hand while resting the other on the small of his back. He melts beneath the touch and exhales slowly in relief. 

When we get inside, I walk to the bed and turn to look at him. He stands a few feet in front of me, his chest heaving as he nearly hyperventilates. 

“I can’t lose you,” I whisper, the confession nearly painful. 

“I can’t lose you, either. Please don’t leave me. Don’t end this.” 

“Dean,” I shake my head, shocked he could think that’s what was happening. “I’m not ending this. I just – I need you to promise me you won’t do those kinds of contracts again.” 

He closes his eyes. “I can’t. Please, don’t ask me to do that, Cas.”

“It’s dangerous! You could get killed, or fucking worse. What happens when those sick bastards you’re hunting catch you instead?” 

“That won’t happen. I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re not a fucking god, Dean. You only have so much control.”

He looks at me, pleading with watery eyes. “Can we just agree to put it off for now? Why fight about it? There are three and a half months left.” 

“Oh, what, so I can fall in love with you even further every fucking day we’re together, get attached to the point where I can’t fucking imagine living without you, just for you to turn around and get yourself killed. Fantastic plan. Yeah. Let’s put it off.”

“Stop!” The yell takes me by surprise. Every part of him that was submissive is gone now, replaced by controlled rage. “Fuck off! You don’t know anything about it. You don’t know what it feels like. I survived. Don’t you see that? I went to hell and back with my brothers, with the best, most honorable, strong, amazing men I’ve ever met, and not all of them came back with me. I left them to burn. I _left_ them. I _survived_. And now, what, you want me to spend my fucking life swimming in rooftop pools and having great sex? No. Fuck that. I survived. I don’t get to relax. I don’t get to fuck around.”

I shake my head, afraid I won’t be able to conquer this. He has a serious case of survivor’s guilt. This isn’t about him loving the job. It’s not me fighting with him over doing something else, even though this particular thing brings him joy or fulfillment. No. This is about him feeling like he owes his life. This is about him pretty much admitting that he’ll continue taking these contracts until he joins his fallen brothers. 

Not. Fucking. Happening. 

“Get on the bed.”

“No.”

“Get on the fucking bed, Dean.”

“No!” He walks forward and shoves me. Not enough for it to be violent or to scare me, but enough to show me that he’s not fucking around right now. His entire body is trembling with rage but there’s panic and fear beneath the surface. He’s about to unravel, and he’s terrified I won’t catch him. 

That why, instead of turning the aggression back on him, I grab his face and kiss him softly. So soft, our lips are barely whispering against each other. His knees go weak and he grabs onto my waist for support, bunching the fabric there and sinking into me. 

I cradle the back of his head as I continue the soft, gentle kiss while guiding him to the bed. He lets me lower him onto his back and drape my body over his. His hands cling to me and he begins to shiver. 

I pull back just enough to peer down at him. “Calm down, baby.”

“Don’t – please, don’t break up with me.”

“I’m not.” 

“You were so mad, Cas. You were – the way you looked at me. I-” he squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear slips out of the corner of one. My heart aches as I catch it with my thumb and wipe it away. 

After kissing him again for a minute, still nice and slow, I whisper against his mouth, “I love you, Dean. You aren’t going anywhere. Even if you are a pain in my ass. Even if you drive me crazy or piss me off. Understood? You’re mine. I’m yours.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Even if,” he pauses, his body shaking once again. “Even if I, uh, I go back to work?”

Closing my eyes, I remind myself to breathe. “Can you at least promise me that it’ll be a discussion? That you’ll at least hear me out? Can you promise me that you’re not absolutely, one hundred percent, no matter what, returning to that kind of contract work?” 

He nods. “I can promise that.”

“Then we’ll let it go for now. Four months is a long time. Who knows what we’ll want. Where we’ll be. You might find something that you love even more than that. A different way to help those people. Let’s just give it time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, baby.”

He sags in relief. “I love you, too. So much. It’s fucking crazy, Cas. We barely know each other.”

“That’s not true.” I look him in the eye and give him a soft smile. “You know me better than almost anyone on this tour already, and those people know me better than anyone else that exists on the planet. And you may be hiding some shit from me still, but I have a feeling I know you just the same. The real you.” 

“Yeah.” He smiles wide. “I haven’t felt more like myself in my entire life.”

“I know. I feel the exact same. It’s crazy, but it doesn’t matter.” 

“Good.” He tightens his grip on me, lips turning down just a bit. “Promise? This isn’t a breakup? You won’t change your mind later?”

I stroke his cheek. This man will need constant reassurance, and I’m fine with that. I’ll remind him every single day for the rest of our lives that I’m not going anywhere. “I promise, Dean.” 

“Okay.” He gives me a goofy smile. “Should we try that again with Naomi now that you’re calm?”

Laughing, I stand up and help him do the same. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Dean**

Once the band disappears into the studio, Castiel carrying his guitar and smiling, I take a seat in one of the chairs in the hall and begin to scroll through my phone. I have an email from Benny – a possible new contract for when I’m done with Castiel’s. After debating on whether or not I should even look at it for a few minutes, I eventually click on it. 

That was a bad idea. 

The contract is for an eight year old little girl that was kidnapped last month. Her case is already being considered cold by the local police. Considering the area she lived in, as well as her description, I’m willing to bet she’s in a drug trafficking ring somewhere. 

My entire body throbs with the need to go right now. Obviously I can’t, I have to finish this contract with Castiel. This particular contract for this little girl will hopefully be picked up by someone else first. But, if it’s still sitting there when this contract is up? There’s no way I’m going to be able to say no to that. 

That’s not going to make Castiel very happy. 

What the hell am I going to do?

“Hey lover boy,” Naomi teases as she sits in the chair next to mine. She hands me a coffee with a smirk. 

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“It’s okay. I’m actually glad it did. He might hate me, but he’s a good kid. He deserves to be happy.”

“Yeah.” I fiddle with the lid of my coffee. “I’m just afraid maybe we got ourselves into something we shouldn’t have.”

“How do you mean?”

Sighing, I look up at Naomi and explains. “Well, first of all, this life he lives? This isn’t me. I’m a burgers and beer guy. My idea of a wild night is a football game. And future contracts will - I dunno. It just doesn’t feel like it can work.”

Naomi frowns. “That doesn’t sound like the same guy from this morning. When you and Castiel came back after that little fight, the two of you were practically giddy.”

“I know.” 

“So, what happened?”

“Just had some time to think.” After Naomi says nothing to that, I admit the thing I’ve been trying not to acknowledge. The real reason I’m so freaked out this morning. “What if I’m gone for a contract, or he’s gone for a tour, and he gets really bad again? How will I ever forgive myself if something happens?”

Naomi nods in understanding. “Okay, then what if you stay on as his bodyguard permanently?”

I wince. “This isn’t the kind of job I want to spend the rest of my life doing.”

“What do you want to be doing?”

Not wanting to answer that, I decide to change the subject. “I forgot to tell you last night, but he needs refills on his meds before we leave for the next stretch of the tour.”

Naomi laughs under her breath. “Okay. I’ll take care of that.”

“Great.”

“Great.” Naomi is looking at me, I can feel it, but I refuse to look her way. Eventually she releases a deep sigh. “In my opinion, careers are never an excuse for a breakup. If you want to be with someone, you find a way to be with them. No matter what. And you’re the lucky ones, because with Castiel’s money? It’s not like you’ll have a hard time seeing each other often.”

Feeling like total shit, I lean forward and put my face in my hands. “I know. I’m being an idiot.”

“No. I think maybe you’re just scared.”

“Yeah.” I scrub at my face before peeking over at Naomi, giving her a tight smile. “My mom killed herself when I was younger. She had Bipolar too. I – I almost didn’t take this contract because of that. But everyone is different, and I know enough to know a mental illness isn’t a death sentence, and to be honest I needed the money from this, so I accepted the contract. And then I went and fell in love with him.”

“And now you’re terrified he’s going to end up like your mom.”

It’s not a question, but a statement. I stare down at the floor and take a sip of my coffee. The burn feels good. Not as good as it would feel to be hurt by Castiel right now though. A little manhandling. Choking. Getting fucked hard. I feel like everything is spinning right now. There are so many choices for me to make. Decisions. It feels like that little girl’s life rests on my shoulders. But so does Castiel’s. 

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

**Castiel**

“Dean!” I yell when I finally set eyes on the man I love. I run toward him, giving Dean just enough time to turn away from the water fountain and look at me before I’m launching into Dean’s arms. Dean catches me with a grunt, then a soft chuckle. “They loved it! They loved the song!” I tell him. 

“Really?” Dean squeezes me tighter and spins me around. When he sets me back on my feet, the two of us breathless, Dean grabs my face with gentle hands and kisses me. For the first time ever, I don’t flinch or pull away to check my surroundings or think about what will happen if someone sees us. I just kiss Dean back. 

Our kiss is broken when Gabriel jumps on my back, sending me stumbling into Dean. He messes up my hair and grins at Dean. I try squirming away from Gabriel but he just laughs. 

“We’re going to celebrate,” Gabriel announces. “Ya’ll comin’?”

Dean flinches, his smile slipping. I see it and immediately step in so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about turning them down because of the rules. “We’ll just stay at the hotel today. You go have fun!” I tell Gabriel. 

“You sure? It’s low key. Just lunch.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Come on, you deserve to celebrate!” Charlie scolds. “If you’re not coming to lunch, we’re doing something tonight at the hotel.”

Gabriel puts an arm around my neck and starts to steer me away. “Not sure if ya heard, but our hotel has a rooftop pool my friend. I vote we celebrate up there tonight.”

“Hey! Where are you going with my boyfriend?” Dean complains, making the rest of the band laugh as they make their way out of the building. He continues to grumble and give dirty looks as the band members play hot potato with me, but I can tell it’s taking a lot of effort for him not to smile. Just seeing him so carefree and happy right now makes me feel giddy. 

Once Dean has me in the backseat of the SUV all alone, he’s tugging me into his lap and kissing me hard. I laugh at first but when Dean doesn’t pull away, I realize Dean’s serious. 

“Dean,” I whisper against his lips. It’s not that I don’t like this, because I clearly do, but this isn’t like him. “Dean, wait –”

“Please. Need you. Feel – feel too much,” he mumbles into the kiss. 

My heart breaks for him. I press closer to him and grab two fistfuls of Dean’s hair, deepening the kiss until he’s panting. 

Knowing exactly what Dean needs, I move my mouth away from his lips and begin to bite and suck marks across his jawline and to his neck. When I reach his ear, I suck on Dean’s earlobe before nibbling on it. “When we get back to the hotel, I want you to strip for me and kneel at the foot of the bed.”

Dean shivers. “Yes, sir.”

“And I don’t care how long I make you sit there. You won’t get up. And you won’t touch yourself. Understood?”

“Yeah – yes. Fuck.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Red.”

“Good boy.” I get off his lap and sit beside him. He takes my hand in his and squeezes. When I look over at him, he’s staring at me like he’s lost. “Oh, babe. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He swallows hard, then looks out the window at the hotel we’re pulling up to. “Just ready to get some time with you.”

I frown. “Are you regretting our decision to be together?”

“No. Not at all.” He glances at me. “We’ll make this work, Cas. Right? Even if it gets hard? Promise we’ll make it work.”

The insecurity is coming off him in waves, and I feel like I’m drowning in them. “Of course, Dean. I promise. No matter what. We’ll be okay.”

He nods, then takes a deep breath and slips back into the Dean he shows everyone else. It physically hurts me to see him force himself into that hard shell. I watch as he checks his phone and his gun, then opens the car door and hops out. The crowd is deafening outside but he ignores them all, green eyes locked entirely on me. He gives me a smile that makes my heart sing. 

I take his hand and let him guide me into the hotel. At one point he has to tuck me into his chest and stick an arm out when a girl throws herself at me. When we get inside, we’re both giggling to ourselves. It gets worse when I realize a pair of pink lace panties are stuck on the hood of his sweatshirt. 

When I pick them up and show him, he gags and then begins to laugh hysterically. 

Then I get the best idea. He must be able to tell, too, because his smile freezes and his breath hitches. I wonder if the sudden rush of lust I just experienced is showing in my eyes. 

“You’re going to put these on after you strip,” I whisper, stepping closer and shoving the panties into his jeans pocket. “I want you kneeling in nothing but those pretty panties for me.”

“What? I -no!” he sputters. 

“Why not? They’re clean. They have a tag on them. Just ignore the girl’s number written in sharpie on the tag and you’re good to go.”

“I can’t.”

I smirk. “Why not?”

He turns a bright red and looks away from me. I glance around, then grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him forward until we’re nose to nose. Growling, I order, “Go to our room. Strip. Put these on. And fucking kneel. Now.”

His green eyes widen and I prepare myself for the possibility that he might safe word. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead, he takes a shaky breath and nods once before hurrying over to the elevators. As he leaves, Gabriel comes up to me, putting an arm around my shoulder again. “So, you’re gonna be busy for an hour or two, hey?” he teases, clearly picking up on the sexual tension. 

“At least.”

“Yuck.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh shut up. You’re just jealous.”

“Psssssh. My sex life is fantastic, thank you very much. In fact, you should have seen what I did with these twins last night.” Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows at me and I gag, moving away from him. 

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love me.” 

I sigh dramatically, hiding a smile. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“You love him too, don’t you?”

Feeling my face heat up, I side eye him and nod. “Yeah. A lot. Is that stupid? I know I’ve only known him for a little while, but I can’t explain it, Gabe. It’s like – it’s like the world just makes sense when I’m with him. Like I can breathe.”

“I get that. Definitely.”

“When are we all getting together?”

“After dark. Manager said we can have the pool once it closes at ten.”

Unable to stop myself from grinning, I tell him, “Perfect.”

“Yeah, I bet it is. Gives you almost ten hours to get your freak on.”

When I flip him off as a response, he just rolls his eyes and laughs at me. I take a step away from him, heading toward the elevator since it’s probably been enough time to give Dean a head start, but he stops me by grabbing my arm. “Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“I like this. You smiling and laughing like you just were with him. I’m happy for you.”

Meeting my brother’s eyes, I grin. “Yeah. I’m happy too. 

**Dean**

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. 

I, Dean Winchester, a man who holds two Navy Marksmanship medals for expert level, a man who single-handedly killed three men in a village in Afghanistan when they tried to sneak up on his unit and shoot them, a man who is trained in five different types of martial arts, a man who has killed more than he can count, a man who has spent his entire life keeping up the appearance of badass, protective, man of steel, am kneeling on a hotel floor in panties.

Pink. 

Lace. 

Too fucking small for me.

Panties.

Castiel was right. The tag was still on them, plus the little sticky thing on the inside is still there to protect the crotch, but still. It feels so dirty and wrong. A girl threw these at my boyfriend just a few minutes ago and now I’m wearing them. 

My cock is so embarrassingly hard thinking about that, and I find myself blushing even though no one is in the damn room with me. 

I have no idea if it’s seconds or hours that pass before Castiel enters the room, but I know I’m desperate. My body erupts with goosebumps the second I hear the door click shut. My heart races and my breathing picks up until I’m panting. 

He walks by me like I’m not even here. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he stands by the kitchen table. He places the hotel key on it, then shrugs out of his jacket and throws it over a chair. I suck in a breath, preparing for him to come to me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits at one of the chairs and kicks his feet up on the table, scrolling though his phone casually. 

My entire body feels hot with humiliation and I whine. He ignores me. 

Trying to behave, I start singing a song in my head. It calms me a little but I can’t stop the way my body twitches and jumps to attention every time he shifts or makes a noise. 

I’m so close to begging him. So damn close

Then I remember my orders. I’m not to move. I’m not to touch myself. 

He said nothing about being quiet.

“Sir?” I whimper, watching as my voice makes him shiver. He ignores me but I’m determined now. “Sir? Please.”

Without looking up, he asks, “Please what?”

His bored tone and obvious disinterest makes me blush, and my cock jumps in delight. Who knew I had a humiliation kink? Castiel, I guess. He seems to know everything about me. 

“Please-” I stop, realizing I don’t even know what to say. I want so much. I want everything.

I want _him_. 

“Please, sir. Y-you.”

“Me?” he asks in a mocking tone. “You want me?”

“Yes, sir. Need you.”

“_Need _me. Wow. Sounds pretty desperate.” Finally, _finally, _Castiel looks at me. He’s smirking, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking turned on. I’d give him anything right now. “Look at you. Did you wear those pretty panties for me, Dean?” 

I squirm, my hand ghosting over my panties, but I stop myself right before I accidentally break the no touching rule. “Yes, sir.”

“I like them. Think maybe I’ll just sit here and enjoy the view for a bit.”

Biting my lip, I force myself to keep quiet. If he wants that, then I can do it. I can be good for him. After shifting my knees a little because they’re getting sore, I settle into my spot and let my mind wander. It actually feels kind of nice after a while. Instead of my thoughts turning dark, they just sort of puff and float into nothingness. 

When a hand rests on my shoulder, I actually jump, gasping as I’m brought back to reality. I blink up to find Castiel grinning down at me. He has his pants unzipped, cock hard and heavy in his hand as he strokes himself. Without meaning to, I lick my lips. 

His chuckle is low and sexy. “Such a good boy for me. So patient. I think I should let you suck my cock for a reward.”

I nod quickly, eyes laser focused on his fingers as they continue massaging his penis. 

“Beg for it, then.”

“Please.” Knowing that’s not enough, I look up at him through my lashes and take a step out of my comfort zone. “Please let me suck your cock, sir. I want it so bad. Need you to use me.”

The cocky smile slips and I see a glimpse of my regular Cas. It only lasts a second, but the amount of love that seeps through the cracks in that time is incredible. I feel like with just that look, Castiel wrapped me in a warm fuzzy blanket. When he goes back to being a bossy asshole, I can’t help but still feel safe and loved. 

“Go ahead. Make it nice and wet so I can fuck you.”

Groaning, I let my weight fall forward and take him into my mouth. I use my hands to steady myself on his thighs as I swallow as much of him as I can. Within seconds, his fingers are tangled in my short hair so he can hold my head still. I look up at him through watery eyes as he starts to fuck my mouth hard and deep. The sounds I make are embarrassing and I can feel spit falling off my chin but I don’t care at all. 

When he decides he’s had enough, he pulls out and lets my head go, leaving me to slump back to the floor in a semi-kneeling, semi-sitting position. 

“In the bed.” 

I scramble to listen, climbing onto the bed and settling myself in the center of it. Before I can ask how he wants me, I’m being pushed down so I’m lying on my back, my feet on the mattress and bent knees spread wide to give him a great view. 

“You’re going to prep yourself for me,” Castiel informs me as he hands me a bottle of lube. I watch as he places a two different sized dildos on the mattress as well. His hand grabs my chin and forces my eyes back to his. “One finger. Nice and slow so I can enjoy my view.”

“Yes, sir,” I breathe. 

I grab the panties by the waist and start to push them down but he stops me with a wicked grin. “Oh no no no. Keep those on, baby. They make you look so beautiful.” 

Hating how red I know I must be, I duck my head and let go of the underwear. With shaking hands, I open the lube and coat my fingers. Doing this in front of him feels so awkward and forced, but also so damn hot. I have myself so worked up that just the light touch of my fingertips against my rim makes me suck in a sharp breath. 

“That’s it,” he praises as I slip in the first finger, beginning to work myself open. 

When I hear something wet, I look up to find that he’s slowly stroking himself as he watches me. My toes curl at the sight and I can’t stop the filthy moan that falls from my lips. 

“Come on, baby. One more finger.”

I whimper and shift to make myself more comfortable, then do as told. The second finger catches and burns but after some scissoring, it slides in beside the first. 

“God you look so sexy like that, Dean. Fucking yourself on your own damn fingers.”

I pick up the pace, starting to feel as desperate as I was when he first came into the room and made me wait. A gentle hand grabs my wrist and pulls my fingers out of me. I cry at the loss but realize quickly that Castiel is placing a lubed dildo in my hand, just slightly thicker than the two fingers and much longer. Our eyes lock and I smile at his wrecked expression while sinking down on the toy. He flicks his gaze to watch my hole expand for it, then he’s looking at me again. 

“So pretty like that,” he breathes, his own cheeks flushing. 

“Thank you, sir.” I start to move my hips, throwing my head back as I’m finally able to reach those deeper spots inside. “Ooohh- yes.”

“Feel good, baby?”

“Mhhhm.”

“Want the next one?”

I nod, pulling the current dildo out and blindly grabbing for the next one. This one is almost as wide as Castiel, and just a little shorter. It takes a few pumps of my hand to get it worked inside me but then I’m sagging into the mattress in a state of near bliss. I don’t even realize I’m fucking myself with the toy until his dirty compliments begin to register.

“Yeah, that’s it. Stuffed nice and full. Such a slut for it. Bet that’s not even enough, is it? Bet you’re desperate for a real cock.” 

“Yes!” I cry out, a tear slipping down my cheek. “Please. You. Need you. Please.”

Castiel gets up on his knees and comes toward me, his wet cock bobbing in the air. I start to remove the dildo but he stops me. “You keep fucking yourself on that. I’m not interested in that hole right now.”

Whimpering, I continue moving against the toy in my hand as he comes closer. When his cock is right in front of my mouth, I part my lips and stick out my tongue. He swears under his breath before quickly slamming down my throat. I choke for a second, panic taking over as my fight instincts kick in, but he pulls back and immediately starts to pet my hair. As he does short little shallow thrusts against my tongue, he mumbles words of encouragement. 

“So good for me. So perfect. That’s it baby. Can’t wait to fuck you. You’re doing so well. Makin’ me so happy, Dean.”

I shiver at the sound of my name, smiling around his cock. He pulls out a second later and settles himself between my legs. Without being told, I let go of the dildo and bring my hands up to rest on the mattress above my head. The dildo is still inside me but I understand now it’s his toy to remove. 

Drawing out the torture for a few more seconds, Castiel fiddles with the fake cock inside me before finally pulling it out. I barely have time to complain. A moment later, Castiel is pushing inside of me, filling me so perfectly as he reaches all the parts those stupid toys couldn’t. 

I expect him to start fucking me, but he doesn’t. Even once I’m fully adjusted and there’s no longer any resistance, his movements stay slow and gentle. He kisses me everywhere he can reach. Just soft little pecks. 

“Cas,” I sigh with a smile. 

He takes my face in his free hand and places a sweet kiss on my lips. Staying there, he starts to slowly move inside me, picking up the pace as he goes. I grab onto his shoulders and cling to him, arching my back so he can slide in deeper. When he drops his weight a little more to press against me, my cock gets trapped between our stomachs, getting the perfect amount of friction and pressure to hurdle me quickly toward an orgasm. 

“Shit – Cas. I-” Unable to finish, I just gasp and squeeze my eyes shut. He doesn’t slow down or even ask what’s wrong. In fact, he pulls back and tilts my hips, pounding into me hard enough to make my teeth clack. 

“Come on, Dean. Come for me.”

I nod, letting my jaw drop to suck in a shaky breath. With the air comes my release. He fucks me straight through it, cock hitting my prostate at just the right angle, and by the time I’m finishing my first orgasm I’m approaching another one. 

“Wait!” I squirm, trying to get away from him. He pins me down with a hand on my throat, using the other one to hold my left leg and pull it further to the side so I’m open wider for him. I look down to find the pink panties ripped and soaked, hanging by just a few strings around my thigh. 

“You’re fine, Dean. Let go.”

“No. Don’ wan’ – too much.”

“I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” He lifts onto his knees and tilts over me, making it so his cock is at an entirely new angle, deep enough for me to feel it in my gut. 

My body begins to shiver and convulse. “No,” I whine. “No.”

He just chuckles and puts more pressure on my throat. “You’re going to come for me again, Dean. Because I will not stop fucking you until you do. Understood?”

“P – please.” I thrash my head back and forth, trying again to get him off me. 

“Understood?” he growls, hand gripping my throat tight enough to cut off all air. The blood in my ears pounds, then buzzes. My vision blurs. “Come. Now.”

Betraying me, my cock listens to him. I barely have anything left in me but I’m able to shoot a small amount of come onto my stomach, the warm liquid mixing with the dried jizz from earlier. There are compliments coming from him. Praise. None of it even registers as my head swims and my body vibrates. 

His hand disappears and his mouth is locking onto mine, giving me his air. He moves twice more before coming to a stop as deep as he can get. I feel his cock twitch and throb as it fills me. 

“God, I love you,” he pants low in my ear. 

“I love you too.” My voice cracks and I suddenly feel cold and detached. It feels as if all the anxiety from before that he helped me put on hold comes rushing back. The air in my lungs catches. My body begins to violently tremble. Sound begins to fade. 

Before I can tell Castiel what’s happening, he’s figured it out. We’re flipping and turning so that I’m straddling his lap as he sits up with his back against the wall. Still buried inside me, he pulls me into him, cradling the back of my head and pressing my face to his neck. 

“I’ve got you, Dean. We’re okay. You’re okay.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“Shh. No. It’s okay. Just let your body catch up a little.”

“Sorry,” I cry again, my teeth chattering as I continue to shake. 

“It’s okay baby.” He holds me tighter, drawing soft circles on my bare back with his thumb. When I shiver, he hurries to grab a blanket, pulling it over me and him so we’re wrapped in a cocoon. It makes me feel much better for some reason. So does the little kisses he’s pressing to my temple and cheek. 

Burying my face in his neck, I ask, “What’s happening to me?” 

“You’re just dropping baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He starts to move and I whimper, wrapping my arms and legs around him as tight as I can. “Shh. I’m not letting go of you. We’re gonna take a bath. Just walk with me. I’ll keep my arm around you, I promise.”

Not even embarrassed that I’m a badass soldier turned mercenary getting half-carried, half-walked to the bathroom, I sag against him in relief. Feeling suddenly very sleepy, I rest my head on his shoulder and let my eyes fall closed. 

I startle when he pushes me down so I’m sitting on the soft rug beside the tub. Castiel takes one of my hands and places it on his bare ankle. “Hold me right there, okay? Then I can’t go anywhere.”

Shame floods my system. I duck my chin to my chest and try to tell myself to let go of him, to be a damn adult, to get my shit together, to stop being vulnerable, but I can’t. No matter how long I stare at my fingers around his ankle, I can’t loosen them. 

Seemingly out of nowhere comes a cold bottle of water. I don’t know when he would have been able to grab that, but my head hurts too much to care. I take the bottle that has the cap already off for me and take a small sip. He encourages me to take one more before letting me put it on the floor beside me. 

Water is pouring into the tub and the scent of the bubble bath is filling the air. It’s making me fall asleep, which is much nicer than the freak out I was having. At least this way I’m relaxed. Feeling sad and lonely and cold, yes, but relaxed. 

“Dean?” I hear Castiel say from far away. I tuck my face into the bath rug, unsure of when I even laid down to put my head on it in the first place, and ignore him. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t bother me again. 

**Castiel**

Dean barely woke up when I convinced him to climb into the bath with me. He just grumbled and adjusted his body so he was more comfortable before falling back asleep against my chest. I let us soak for a while before toweling him off and helping him back into the room. He starts to wake when I place him on the mattress, so I hurry to grab a Gatorade from the mini-fridge and a chocolate candy from the little bowl that’s on my bedside table, returning to him just as he blinks his eyes open. 

Unlike the first time, when he woke up without remembering anything and panicked, he just gives me a sad smile and whispers, “Sorry.”

“Babe, it’s okay. I promise. Nothing you or I could do can stop a drop. They just happen.” I pull him into my arms and kiss his forehead. “Did your head go anywhere bad during it, though? Because I want to talk about whatever thoughts you had if it did.”

Dean looks away, giving me my answer without him having to say a thing. 

“Can you tell me where your head went, Dean?”

“‘M not sure,” he mumbles. “I was thinking about loving you and then I just panicked out of nowhere.”

“Okay.” I grab the Gatorade and hand it to him. Without being told, he takes a sip. “You’re worried about us not staying together, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

“That’s what you’ve been worried about all day, hey?”

He bites his lip and nods. 

“If it’s scaring you this much, we can talk more about the contract thing. Maybe if I know more about it, I’d feel better about you taking them, and we wouldn’t have to even fight about the issue.”

“It’s not that.” 

“Oh.” I take the drink from him, replacing it with the chocolate candy. “Is it my job, then? Having to deal with tours and media and everything?”

Dean closes his eyes. “No.”

“Well, then what-” I stop, the realization dawning. Suddenly, I’m regretting pursuing this topic of conversation. He’s looking like he feels the same. 

Emotions choke me as I’m bombarded with all the memories of Gabriel or Naomi or the others worrying about me. That bathroom floor covered in blood. The look on Gabriel’s face when I woke up in that hospital bed. 

Dean’s terrified I’m going to put him through those things. So much so that he’s making himself physically upset over it. The worst part is, I can’t even promise Dean I won’t put him through any of that. On days like today, when I’m evened out and happy, I feel confident saying I won’t ever get that bad again. But it’s not up to me all the time. No amount of medications or counseling or babysitting can keep me up for the rest of my life. With bipolar, what comes up must truly come down. That’s just my reality. 

Shoving thoughts of myself aside, I focus on what’s important. Dean is still in the middle of a drop. He needs to drink more. Eat that candy. Get some rest. This isn’t a conversation for right now. Not at all. 

“Let’s make a deal,” I suggest. When his eyes meet mine, I explain myself. “Today we don’t talk about any heavy shit. Not allowed. At midnight, if we’re still awake, then bring it on. But until then? We just had great sex. We’re about to take a nice nap. The label loved my song – a song I wrote after months of not being able to, because you inspired me. Later we’re gonna go swimming on the roof with everyone else and celebrate. Today is not the day we’re going to worry about anything that isn’t _now_. Deal?”

He smiles, and it’s genuine and warm and I’ve never felt so damn relieved. “Deal.”

\----

After a four hour nap, a naked room service dinner in bed, blowjobs for desert, and a good old fashioned teenage makeout session, we drag ourselves out of the hotel room and up to the roof. The sun is just starting to set and no one else is up there at the moment. Dean grabs my hand and pulls me into a one-armed hug, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“Oh?” I laugh, slightly confused. “Why is that?”

“That song. I heard part of it when I was eavesdropping. The lyrics were so honest and beautiful. And just knowing that you wrote it after we said I love you, after you decided to finally come out and stop being afraid, I’m just so proud of you.”

I give him a side-eyed glare, knowing full well he can see me blushing. “Thought we were keeping things light today.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” 

“Don’t yeah yeah me Dean Winchester.” I give him a look, trying to remember if I saw him grab his gun when we got dressed. His shirt is too loose to be able to tell if he has it tucked in the usual spot. Attempting to act casual, I turn to him and reach around for a hug. My hand slightly skim over his waistband and find nothing. 

“What time is it?” I ask him after a few seconds of the ill-intentioned hug. 

He shifts, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check. I take it from him, still pretending to be checking the time. As I mumble, “Oh, Gabe and everyone should be here soon,” I set the phone down on a lounge chair and turn back to him. 

I make three crucial mistakes. 

One, the phone thing was sketchier than I planned it to be. 

Two, I hesitate just before pushing him into the pool. 

Three, I forgot he’s a goddamn Navy SEAL. 

I never stood a chance. 

As I send Dean hurtling into the pool, two strong arms lock around me, and I’m going straight into the water with him. I release an embarrassing yelp as my arms and legs flail through the air. We’re laughing so hard that we end up choking on water, but neither of us care. We just pop up as fast as we can and go at each other. He picks me up and throws me a few feet away. Sometimes I forget how strong he is because of how much control he gives me in the bedroom. 

There’s something so satisfying about the fact that if he really wanted to, he could flip me over and have me dead in ten seconds flat, but he doesn’t. He relies on me. Uses a safe word instead of his own strength. Reels himself in so that I can help take the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

Just as I’ve swam back to him, about to tell him how amazing I think he is, a series of splashes erupts around us. I look over to see my bandmates fully clothed like we are as they pop up to catch their breaths. 

“Crazy. All of you,” Dean says with a fake pout. “At least I had to be pushed in.”

“Can it, Winchester. Pretend all you want but we’re onto you,” Gabriel yells. 

“On to me?” Dean asks with an eyebrow raised. 

Charlie points a finger at him. “Yup. Act all badass, that’s fine, but we know you’re secretly fun.”

“Yeah. This grumpy old man act is so two days ago, Dean. What the hell,” Chuck teases. 

Putting his hands up in surrender, Dean laughs. “Whatever you say. Just don’t be disappointed when you find out you’re wrong.” 

“Cas, are we wrong?” Charlie asks with a smug smile. 

“I plead the fifth.” I swim up to Dean and give him a kiss. Everyone around us makes obnoxious ‘oohs’ and ‘awes’ with the exception of Gabriel. 

Instead, Gabriel grumbles, “Way to pick sides, Cass-hole.”

Still kissing Dean, I stick my hand in the general direction of Gabriel and flip him off. Everyone laughs again but I’m distracted by Dean pulling me close and turning so I’m pinned between him and the pool wall. 

When our lips part, I find myself giggling. “What are you doing?” 

“Proving I’m fun.”

“Mmm. I like your definition of fun.” I kiss him again, rubbing our fronts together. “Maybe you’ll give me a lesson later?”

“Definitely.”

I hear a ‘hey lovebirds’ a second before Dean and I are both being pushed under water by the band. Once we’re back in the air, Dean launches himself at Gabriel and dunks him. The whole band is shocked at first. 

Then it’s on.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a pretty graphic nightmare Dean has w/ the war & a suicide in it.

**Dean**

_Thick, rancid smoke fills my lungs as I pass yet another burning body. I’ve stopped counting them. There’s some low-level soldier out there who will do that for me. My job doesn’t relate to the civilians. They’re dead. My job is to focus on those that are alive; those that will die at the hands of me. The cowards who run through villages raping and killing and burning. _

_“Winchester.” I turn my head to the side at the sound of my last name being whispered, smirking when I see Benny in the shadows. I slink toward him, crouching low. _

_“What’s up, asshole?” he asks._

_“Oh, ya know,” I begin. “Just took a nap. Might grab a cocktail. Catching a movie later. You?”_

_“I was thinking of stopping at the store and grabbing some marshmallows for these bonfires.”_

_I tilt my head back and laugh quietly, shaking my head. “You’re fucked up, Benny.”_

_“Who isn’t with this job?”_

_It’s true, so I just grunt in acknowledgement and glance around. We should get moving. Benny must think the same thing because he starts walking. I fall into step beside him, the two of us moving slowly as we make our way to the extraction point. _

_Once again, we pass a burning body. A small one. So very small. I accidentally let my guard down for just a second, my feet stuttering as my eyes lock onto the charred skeleton. There’s a baby doll beside it with a melted face and burned clothing. _

_When I regain my bearings, I take a breath and look over at Benny. He’s watching me carefully. It’s always harder with kids. Even if you’ve mastered the skill of shutting your emotions off. Even if you’ve seen things that would scare the bravest of men. Even when you’ve stared death in the face. The hardest part is always the kids. _

_“When we get this fucker,” I say as we start to move again, referring to the leader of this group that’s been terrorizing the villages. “I’m gonna burn him alive.”_

_Benny lifts his lips up in a half smile. “Now that’s a fire I’m willing to roast marshmallows on.”_

_Chuckling, I look down at my feet as I step around a burning body. Then I stop, whipping around and getting closer. This one isn’t like all the others. The person is still fairly intact. Dead, of course, but the flesh isn’t replaced with ash. That’s the problem, though, because this person looks familiar. _

_So familiar._

_I get down on a knee and hover my hand over the dead man. My eyes scan every detail. The messy black curls. The bright blue eyes frozen wide open. The soft pink lips caught in a scream. My stomach rolls. _

_“Oh. Yeah. That kid,” Benny grunts. _

_I touch my fingertips to Castiel’s hair. It catches fire. _

_“Don’t feel bad for him,” Benny tells me, grabbing the back of my gear and trying to yank me to my feet. “He did it to himself.”_

_“What?” I choke out, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. _

_“He did it himself. Set himself on fire.” He shrugs. “Some people just can’t be saved.”_

_“No! No, he’s fine! He’s fine!” I turn back to Castiel and start doing CPR. The flames from his hair are spreading, burning my face, but I don’t care. He has to be okay. I was supposed to keep him safe. I was supposed to stop him. _

_He was my responsibility. _

_I was supposed to protect him from everything._

_Even himself._

_Why didn’t I protect him? How did this happen? Where was I? Why didn’t he tell me?_

_“Cas! Castiel! No!” I scoop him up and hold him to my chest, not caring that I’m in the middle of a war zone. Not caring that I’m sobbing like a damn baby. “I’m so sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, babe.”_

_“Dean,” Benny barks. “Some people just can’t be saved.” _

_“I’m so sorry,” I continue to chant. _

_“Come on man. He was dead before you even met him. Give up.”_

_“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry-”_

_“There was nothing you could do.”_

_Whipping around to look at my best friend, I scream, “I could have saved him! It was my job!” _

_Then Castiel falls out of my arms and into a pool of water. We’re on a roof. The sun is setting. He’s swimming over to the edge and I realize there isn’t a wall to catch him. I try to get to him, desperately swimming, but there’s a current. I can’t reach him. _

_“Cas!” _

_He turns to look at me. His smile is sad. “It’s okay, Dean. Some people just can’t be saved.”_

_And then he’s gone. _

\----

I wake up to find myself being held. Strong arms are around me, a hand holding my head to a chest. The person is rocking me softly back and forth. Hushing me. Whispering. 

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.”

“Cas?” I croak, pulling away so I can look at him. When it’s not enough, I reach over to the lamp, hitting the button so it turns on. He looks okay. Safe. But I have to be sure. I roll us over so he’s on his back, straddling his lap. He doesn’t make a sexual joke or try anything. Instead, Castiel lays completely still, his hands fisted at his sides. 

I touch his hair first, holding my breath as I wait for it to catch fire. 

No flames. 

Good sign. 

I drag my fingers down the side of his face, over his eyes, pausing so he can close them for me, touching each lid. Continuing my full-body check, I trace his lips, the shell of his ears, the curve of his neck, his collarbone, his shoulders. I rest my ear over his heart. Strong beat. Steady. 

“Dean?” he whispers cautiously. 

“Just – one more second.”

“Okay.”

I close my eyes, continuing to listen. 

He’s okay. 

For now, he’s okay. 

But some people just can’t be saved. 

Especially if they don’t want to be. 

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

“Can you look at me?” Taking a deep breath, I lift my head and peek up at him. He looks sad, concerned, but not confused. 

Having a feeling I know my answer already, I tentatively ask, “Did I talk during it?”

“Just a little.” He runs a hand through my hair before cupping the side of my face. “Dean, I’m not going anywhere.”

“So you say.”

Castiel sighs, his thumb skimming my bottom lip. “Did I get killed or do it myself?”

I close my eyes. “Yourself. It was a memory from Afghanistan, but then you were there. You were – you were one of the… uh – the victims.”

“But I thought you said I did it myself?”

“You did. Set yourself on fire.” I squeeze my eyes tight, trying desperately to get the image out of my mind. “You were dead. There was nothing I could do. At all. You were just – you were fucking dead. I couldn’t save you.”

“Oh, Dean.” I feel him shift but keep my eyes shut. “Dean, honey, I’m right here. I’m alive. No fire.”

“I was so scared. I felt – I felt so fucking hopeless, Cas.”

Castiel moves again before gently pulling me closer to him. He cups my cheeks and lifts my head so we’re face to face. “Dean, open your eyes.”

“I couldn’t save you,” I whisper.

“Dean, look at me.”

“I have to be able to save you.”

“Open your eyes.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“Dean, look at me right now!” The only reason I listen is because of the desperation in his voice. He sounds just as scared as I am. With my eyes now open, I watch his entire body relax. He breathes out a sigh of relief. That’s when I realize he’s crying. “I promise you, when things get bad again, I’ll tell you. I’ll get help.”

He reaches up to stroke my hair and I catch sight of his tattooed scarred wrist. It feels like someone yanks my gut and twists it. “Why’d you do it? What made you finally break?”

“You’re gonna think it’s ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

Castiel laughs under his breath. “We had just gotten home from a sold out tour. We sold 1.7 million albums. Naomi called to tell me the label was offering us a new deal. It was – it was a lot of money.”

He looks away from me. “Everyone was happy. Thrilled.”

“Except you?” 

“Except me.” He puts his hand in the air like he’s going to give me a high-five. I lift my own to meet him in the middle. He slots his fingers with mine, the two of us connected by the small gaps of our hands. “I thought for the longest time that I’d be happy one day, you know? It’s not like my parents got me diagnosed. I never saw a doctor, because they believed mentally ill people have the devil in them – just like the gays. So, growing up, I just figured I was sad. Made sense, right? Abusive and controlling parents. The only sibling I got along with moved away to college. I realized I was one of those fags my dad was always talking about needing to go to hell. The only thing I loved, the only thing that made me happy, was music, which was also condemned in my family. I would pray every morning and night. To stop being gay. To stop liking music. To be happy. And once I accepted who I was and what I wanted, once I stopped praying and believing all that shit, I thought I’d be happy when I got out of that house. That town. But then I wasn’t. I thought I’d be happy in college. But then I wasn’t. I thought I’d be happy with the band. But then I wasn’t. I thought I’d be happy once I got rich and famous. But – but then I wasn’t.”

I squeeze his hand in mine, skimming my thumb along the curve between his thumb and pointer finger. “You were tired of waiting.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t even the lowest I’ve ever been. My meds were sort of working. I had a counselor. There had definitely been worse days in my life. My mood was pretty average, maybe a bit on the low side, but not bad. But I remember sitting there on my couch and just staring at the wall. Waiting to feel _something_. Even if it wasn’t happiness. I’d settle for feeling content. Or satisfied. Hell, even feeling sad would have been nice. Because I was empty. Just this empty, numb shell.” He shrugs a shoulder, his trembling lips twisting into a forced smile. A tear falls down his cheek. 

“What do you feel now?” 

“Everything, Dean. You make me feel so much.” His voice trembles and he releases a sob. It sounds relieved, though. Not devastated. “You make me feel alive.”

The amount of relief those words bring makes me dizzy. I use my free hand to grab the back of his head and pull him into a heated kiss. He shivers before pressing harder against me. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the need to have him inside me, I start tugging at his boxers. 

“Dean-”

I ignore him, getting his boxers the rest of the way off before getting up on my knees to do the same for myself. Castiel takes the opportunity to sit up. He grabs my wrists in a tight grip and pins them behind my back with one of his hands, stopping me from removing my boxers. The other hand comes up to cup the side of my face, his thumb tugging at my bottom lip. 

“Cas.”

“Shh. I know.” He starts to trace the outline of my mouth slowly. “I’ll give you what you need, baby. But first you need to give me what I need.”

“Yes. Anything.”

He leans toward me, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, then pulls away to ask, “Do you believe me that I’ll talk to you first? That you never have to worry about walking into the same situation Gabriel did a year ago?”

A relationship is built on trust. We’ll never work if I’m always holding my breath, waiting for the worst. 

With a slow exhale, I make my decision. “I believe you. I trust you, Cas.”

“Really?” he asks, the one word dripping with so much hope it’s tangible in the air around us. 

“Really, Cas.”

After releasing a breathy laugh, he grabs my sides and pushes me up into the air so he can tug at my boxers. We end up getting tangled because of the awkward position. Giggling, the two of us squirm and adjust until the fabric is finally off one of my legs. I leave it hanging on my right thigh. It’s not like it matters. What’s important is uncovered already. 

Castiel grabs the bottle of lube we used earlier from the bedside table and drenches his fingers. He doesn’t go slow or ease me into it. He doesn’t talk sweet or dirty. He just takes one cheek in his dry hand, spreading me open, and pushes a slick finger from the other hand inside me. I hang my head and release a shaky breath. It feels so fucking good, and I need more. Everything. All of him. 

“More,” I demand. 

“So fucking greedy,” he growls as he shoves another finger into me. 

My body trembles as he expertly finds my prostate and begins to build up the pressure against it. He clamps his teeth down on my trap muscle and bites hard. When he pulls away, he darts his tongue out to lick the indents. I moan at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

After squeezing lube on his cock, he takes his fingers out of me and guides my ass so the head of it is nudging my hole. A hand grabs the hair on the back of my head in a tight enough grip to make me dizzy. As my mouth is assaulted by his, he breaches my hole with a harsh punch of his hips. 

I whimper, throwing my head back and arching my back. The movement allows him to slide in the rest of the way. He kisses me harder from the sudden wave of pleasure and I moan into his mouth. Strong hands grab my ass cheeks and begin to push and pull so that I’m riding him. It only takes a few seconds before I’m getting with the program, picking up the pace and fucking down on him. My cock bobs between us but I honestly don’t care about it. I just need this. Him inside me. Us together.

“Fuck, Dean,” he growls into my ear just before biting it. “You’re so fucking addicting. So perfect. Look at you riding my cock.”

His words send goosebumps along my skin and I reach down to touch myself. He grabs my wrist, then the other one, and pins them at the small of my back just like before. With a devilish grin, he holds me there and begins to piston up into me. I stare down at my cock and whine. It was a lie when I said I didn’t care about my cock. I was wrong. So so wrong. 

I think I might combust if it doesn’t get touched by _something_. I’d settle for his stomach or the sheets or even a breeze from the ceiling fan.

Thankfully, his stamina is lower than usual since he was asleep just a few minutes ago. I only have to wait another minute before he’s taking my hands and placing them on his chest. 

“Keep ‘em there,” he orders, one eyebrow raised. “Use ‘em to move up and down. Yeah, there you go baby. Fuck yourself just like that.”

He sits back to watch me, blue eyes hooded and lips still glistening from our last kiss. 

“Please,” I beg, looking at him with my best puppy dog eyes. “Please touch me.”

The smile he gives me is evil, so I expect him to deny me. That’s why I’m surprised when he wraps his large hand around my cock and holds still so every movement I make is either filling my ass or stroking my cock. I jolt into a frantic pace, not caring when I begin spilling out little needy sounds. 

“Close,” I warn him, not sure if he’s in control or not. 

“Fine by me. Do what you want, baby. Make yourself feel good.”

Tucking my chin to my chest, I grind myself against him once, twice, three more times before my orgasm slams into me. I continue bouncing on his cock, loving the way the slight pressure against my prostate takes my orgasm from amazing to mind blowing. 

But then his hand tightens on my spent cock, using my own cum to lube the way. Everything is so sensitive and I try to squirm away from him. I realize my mistake when he tightens his grip on my cock to the point where I’m crying out in pain. He crashes our mouths together, teeth biting and sucking until I’m convinced my lips are bleeding. When he thrusts into me a final time, the movement harsh and deep, he squeezes my cock and begins to fill me up. 

In amazement, I look down just as I come again. It’s barely anything, more of a dribble, but just that little extra push has my entire body singing. 

I collapse against him, not caring that he’s still inside me, and wrap my arms around him. He shifts and then a blanket is being pulled up around us. 

As he trails soft kisses from my temple to my shoulder, I smile.

“Cas?”

“Yeah, baby?” he whispers against my collarbone.

“You make me feel alive too.”

I feel his lips spread into a grin. “Then I guess we’ll just have to keep each other around.”

“Oh darn.” I yawn, nuzzling my face against his neck.

“I know. Whatever will we do?”

“Hmmm.” I smile against his throat. “Be happy.”

His body relaxes into the pillows, hands lazily tickling my skin as he rests his cheek against my shoulder. I stay still, feeling the pulse in his neck against my cheek. With every breath, it slows.

With the softest exhale, he whispers, “Happy sounds perfect.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two covers Castiel sang in this chapter were Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody & Taylor Swift's Blank Space. The two covers I based this off of can be found on my spotify playlist!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10khFWbR12AXhX4HjqqSlw
> 
> I Prevail's version of Blank Space can also be found on youtube!   
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epndL0F5bjw

**Castiel**

It feels like I’m walking on air.

Every kiss. Every smile. Every look across the room.

Something hits the back of my head, sending me stumbling forward a step. I whip around and glare at Gabriel. “What the hell?”

“Stop making googly eyes. We’re supposed to be doing sound check.”

If I wasn’t so damn happy, I’d probably blush. Instead, I just give him a goofy grin and try to focus. _Try_ being the operative word. It’s just so damn hard with Dean Winchester standing off to the side, looking all hot and authoritative. Especially when I consider the things he’s let me do to him.

The same thing hits the back of my head. This time I realize what it is; Gabriel’s hat. He’s been slapping me with it.

When I glare at him, he just rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t go pouting. You can survive twenty minutes without him.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have my mic on.”

“Actually, baby brother, the reason I’m hitting you is because you _haven’t_ turned your damn mic on.”

“Touché.” I fiddle with my mic, adjusting it, then signal the sound guy. Glancing over my shoulder, I ask, “_Come & Get_ _It_ good?”

Charlie nods, Chuck gives me a lazy thumbs up, and Gabriel gives me a look that clearly means _I don’t care, just hurry the fuck up._

I do my usual ten second check of my mic, the band behind me takes turns doing their own, and then we’re counting down and beginning the song. It takes a considerable amount of effort not to look at Dean, but I manage. At least until the song is over. Then I grin over at my boyfriend like a puppy begging for praise. I get it in the form of Dean’s smile, which is beaming. When our eyes lock, though, that smile shifts dramatically, becoming full of fire and dirty promises.

When the band flies off stage, Gabriel strides toward Dean and points a finger at him. “Take my brother somewhere before I kill him.”

“Will do.” Dean immediately grabs my hand and pulls me along as he starts to walk.

I giggle as we head out of the main area and down a hall. “Where are we going?”

“Surprise. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

“Does it involve you wearing those panties again, because I bet I will.”

Dean’s cheeks burn red. He looks around, making sure no one heard that, before saying under his breath, “You sort of tore those apart, babe.”

“We’ll have to buy more then.”

“Not today.” Dean pulls me out of a door that dumps us in the back alley. A black SUV is waiting, but it’s not running, and there’s no driver. When I look over at Dean in confusion, he gives me a mischievous grin. “Just you and me. Figured we could pull another Seattle.”

Memories flood my senses as I think of that day at Pike Place. The smell of the fish, the food, the flowers. The sounds of chatter, and music. The bright colors. The feel of Dean’s hand in mine. It wasn’t that long ago, not at all, but it feels like an entire lifetime. That was the best day I’d had since my attempt.

I want another like it.

“Lead the way.”

\----

The Musical Instrument Museum is amazing. Just stepping inside, feeling that connection of music from all over the world, from different times in history, gives me goosebumps. An employee comes forward with wide eyes. “Are you – are you Castiel Novak?”

I feel Dean tense beside me, but I know he’s smart and I know he’s most likely prepared for me to be recognized. He brought me to a _music_ museum after all.

“I am. You are?”

“I’m – um – uhh,” she blushes, then shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “Sorry. I’m Jocelynn. I’m a huge fan.”

“Well, thank you.” I give her one of my charming smiles I save for moments like this. It feels stickier than usual. That’s been happening since Dean helped me find happiness again.

“Would you like a guided tour? I could set something up. It would just take a minute!”

“Oh, no need for that. Thank you,” Dean says in a firm, professional voice. His hand comes to settle on the small of my back. “We’ve got it under control.”

The girl’s eyes flick between us before she nods. “Well, come find me or anyone else if you need anything. Have a great time!”

We both say our thanks and go in the direction she points to. There are rooms everywhere, displaying different instruments organized by things like time period, type, and culture. It’s all fascinating. Exhilarating.

It also makes me feel small. Just a blip in the overall musical picture. I like that more than I thought I would. It gives me the same kind of feeling I got during my last night of freedom, when Chuck and I went to the clubs. Like I’m myself. Just Cas.

That’s why, as we’re standing in a room surrounded by drums from different cultures and times, I take Dean’s hand in mine. He squeezes once, smiling down at me. I get the urge to kiss him, my eyes glancing at his lips, and he must know because he leans forward as silent permission. Our lips barely brush together, but it’s enough to make my goosebumps from earlier return.

Hand-in-hand, we continue walking through the museum. I notice looks, and I know he does too. There are a few cameras that peek out. A possible video. I don’t care. All I focus on is the music and Dean.

When I see a piano that’s open for use, I grin. “Wanna hear me play piano?”

Dean looks at me in shock. “You know how to play piano?”

“Yeah. I mean, Gabe’s much better. The keyboard’s his favorite. But we’ve taught each other over the years. He can play guitar too.”

“That’s awesome.” He glances at the piano. “Do you have a song memorized?”

“Pssssh. Yes. Watch and learn, Winchester.”

He glances around as I walk over to the piano bench, then comes to stand just two feet from me. I’d tease him, but I know he’s probably anxious right now, especially since I’m about to bring a ton of attention onto myself.

Since I don’t really feel like playing one of my own songs, I pick a classic that reminds me of Bobby’s and makes me smile. It was just recently that Gabriel taught me the cover, a very slow, soft, shortened version of the song, so I’ll hopefully remember all of it.

I settle my fingers on the keys and stroke them for a second before softly opening the song.

_“Is this the real life, is this just fantasy _

_caught in a landslide, no escape from reality _

When I look up from the keys, continuing to sing, I see a lot more people than I expected. Honestly, the museum hadn’t seemed this busy. Apparently, I was wrong.

It’s not that performing bothers me. It’s knowing Dean’s probably freaking out about my safety. When I glance at him, just before beginning to sing again, he gives me a wink and a grin. The tension melts from my muscles and I throw myself into the song.

** Dean **

He’s amazing. There’s a word out there that is stronger than that, but I can’t think of it. All I know is he probably exceeds that word’s strength as well. I glance around, checking for any danger as well as noticing the crowd he’s already pulled in. Some don’t seem to recognize him, but most are staring at him in an awe that I recognize from his concerts.

I look back and lock eyes with Castiel, giving him a wink and a grin. He beams at me before turning back to the keys and singing again. I watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the crowd. There are cameras everywhere, but none of that matters to Castiel. I can tell by the look in his eyes. He feels free. Happy.

_Alive_.

Castiel tilts his head and closes his eyes, raising the tempo and belting out the next part.

_“Mama, oooh I don’t want to die, _

_I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all"_

The words wash over me, hitting so damn close to home coming from him. I feel my heart start to race and my eyes burn, but I shove it all back, focusing on my job. Castiel’s safety is my top priority right now.

When Castiel finishes up the song, the place erupts in applause, cheers, and whistles. I do my quick glance around the crowd before letting myself peek at Castiel. He’s standing up from the piano bench with a hand in the air. I think he’s trying to say thank you, but even with how close I am to him, I can’t hear him.

Then he turns to me. It’s like all of the noise, all of the people, disappear. It’s just us. He feels it too. I know he does, because he throws himself at me for a passionate kiss. I wrap an arm around his waist to hold him steady and kiss him back, my free hand hovering over the area of my shirt that’s hiding my gun.

I have to tear him away from my mouth, breaking the kiss after only a few seconds. He growls but I hush him and scan the crowd again. Still no danger. Plenty of cameras – so many damn cameras – but no danger. Not that I can see.

Placing my lips by his ear, I whisper, “Think we can get out of here fast enough to have some fun before your show starts?”

Castiel looks at me, eyes sparkling with mischief and promises. “I think that can be arranged.”

\----

The band was on fire tonight. I’ve never seen Castiel on stage like that. He was electric. Between songs, he’d interact with the crowd or do silly things. He sang a Taylor Swift cover, _Blank Space,_ because he felt like it and he knew his band knew how to play it. He took his shirt off during one of their more sexual songs and did this gyrating dance that made me hard as a rock. He laughed and he sang and he talked. He did a fucking back flip off one of the speakers.

He’s sweaty when he comes up to me after the show, his tattooed body covered in a sheen of it and his hair extra curly and disheveled. I open my mouth to tell him how great tonight was. Instead, I’m met with a brutal kiss and wandering hands. Before I can even gather my bearings, he’s gone, walking away from me while giving me a wink over his shoulder. He takes his t-shirt out of the back pocket of his jeans and tugs it back on, then runs a hand through his hair. I follow him to the meet and greet area, fading into the background as he does his thing.

There aren’t as many girls. That’s noticeable within seconds. The ones here are still just as rowdy, but they’re among men that look… about the same. I watch as one guy eyes Castiel up like a piece of meat while he approaches the group. Another is wearing a tank top with a pair of lips dripping in rainbow paint in the center and the words _I LICKED IT SO IT’S MINE_. He’s looking at Castiel not as if Castiel is a piece of meat, but that he’s a piece of meat, and really wants Castiel to eat him.

Over my dead body will that one be licking my boyfriend.

Or any of them for that matter.

I take a few steps closer, purely for security purposes, and glue my eyes to Castiel. He’s laughing softly at a good-looking man in one of the band’s shirts, signing something as he listens to the guy. The guy winks at him just before Castiel moves on to the next person, and I need to bite the inside of my cheek to stay professional.

Then he moves onto the tank top guy, and I know it’s just in my head, and I know I’m being an idiot, and I know Castiel probably didn’t even mean to eye him up for that second, but my gut still twists in jealousy. Castiel has been a rockstar with woman throwing themselves at him for years. It bored him. But now? Now the proper sex is going to be doing it. It’s like dangling water in front of a person in the desert.

How can I compete with that?

Tank-top touches Castiel, reaching a hand out to stroke his chest. “You put your shirt back on,” tank-top pouts.

Castiel laughs, giving him his charming smile that I’ve recognized as fake for so long, but it still hurts when he winks at the guy and teases, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You could make it up to me.”

“Oh?”

“Let me come back there and help you take it off.”

If I could kill someone with a look, this dick would be dead. Obliterated.

Instead of forcing a laugh, Castiel forces that same smile and hurries to finish the autograph. When he hands it back, he says loud enough for the people nearby to hear, “Thank you for the offer, and I’m truly flattered, but I have a boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Castiel’s smile melts and he gives the guy I warning look. “That’s not who I am. Have a good night.”

The next guy, the one who was looking at him earlier like that piece of meat, slinks up to him and asks, “Would your boyfriend me interested in a three way?”

“Nope.” Castiel takes the guitar pick and scrawls his initials on it quick. When he gives it back, he locks eyes with the guy. “Maybe you and tank-top over there can get your frustrations out together. Good luck.”

None of the other fans bother him like that again. There’s still some subtle flirting, and he flirts back to keep up the light mood, but between each person he looks back at me to grin, and by the time he’s done, we’re both ready to burst.

The second we get the chance, he nearly shoves me into the dressing room and locks the door. I stumble back onto the leather couch and stare up at him in shocked lust, already panting. He hovers over me with his eyes narrowed. “I want to fuck you so hard right now.”

“Yes,” I breathe, nodding. “Let’s go back to the bus. The rest of the band is going to an after-party, so we have it to ourselves.”

“No. Here. Now. I’m not waiting.”

“Cas.” I look at the door. “Not a good idea.”

“Good ideas are boring.”

I give him a look, but he just laughs. He’s serious. Sometimes I wish I had an internal Naomi meter, because I’m not educated enough to know how dangerous this is. _Who has a key to this room? How many people? Will they come looking for him? What if it’s press that comes in? What if it’s someone important? What if it’s his damn brother?_

Castiel grabs my chin with his thumb and pointer finger, tugging it up until our eyes meet. “Hard and fast, baby. Don’t want to get caught, right?”

“That obvious I’m worried?”

“Dean, when you’re worried, a flashing neon sign appears above your head.”

I blush. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He cups the side of my cheek. “Do you want to safe word?”

After a final glance at the door, I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”

“Good.” He turns his back and walks toward his wardrobe. As he moves, he orders, “Strip for me. Fold your clothes and neatly place them on the chair there. Then come bend over the back of the couch and wait until I’m ready to fuck you.”

I look at the door again. “All my clothes? I thought we were doing it quick?”

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “In those directions, did I say anything about talking?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.” He points a finger at the couch. “Now you’re the one wasting time.”

Biting my lip, I follow his instructions quickly and efficiently, looking at the door after every piece of clothing is removed. By the time I’m bending myself over the back of the couch, I get why he’s making me do this. It feels like every nerve in my body is a livewire. I’m shaking, my teeth chattering, and I’m so hard it hurts.

His hand is gentle as he comes up behind me, holding my hip to keep me still. I feel him glue himself against my back, bending over with me. His breath falls on my ear. “When that door opens, it’s quiet. Have you noticed?”

“N – no.”

“So quiet. Someone could enter and we’d never know.” He chuckles darkly. “Well, _you’d_ never know.”

Before I can ask him to explain that, one of his shirts is covering my eyes as a makeshift blindfold. I hang my head between my shoulders in defeat. “Cas-”

“Shhh.” His hand comes between my legs and runs up until it’s dipping between my ass cheeks. It’s wet and warm and I melt the second it’s rubbing over my hole. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Nope. No buts. What’s your safe word, Dean?”

I sigh. “Red.”

“You wanna use it?”

“No.”

“Then no more talking.” He smacks a hand over my right ass cheek, making me gasp as I’m pushed against the couch, my cock rubbing against the leather. “And you’ll address me as sir.”

“Yes, sir,” I say in a shaky voice.

He slips his finger into my hole. It’s already relaxed from the fun we had earlier, so it doesn’t take long before he’s covering his cock in lube and entering me. I have to turn my face into the crook of my elbow to hide my whine. It becomes much harder as he begins to relentlessly pound into me.

Then that doubt starts to creep in. The silent door. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see me like this. Getting fucked. Dominated. Vulnerable.

I know Castiel won’t let that happen. If someone were to come in, he’d cover me and tell them to leave. He wouldn’t let them watch.

Still, there’s that chance. Just the slimmest of chances. It’s enough to make me jittery and excited. Enough to make me need to come. Immediately.

“Sir – need to – need to come.”

“Too bad. You can’t go making a mess in my dressing room, Dean.”

I sag against the couch and give in. _Is he going to let me come at all? Or will I have to wait? How long will I have to wait?_

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls. Just seconds later, he’s doing as promised. I grit my teeth in frustration as he stops moving inside me. My orgasm is right there. So fucking close. And he doesn’t care about it.

He pulls out of me, wiping himself on my ass cheek. Then he grabs me by the hips and turns me around. I feel a drop of his cum slowly dripping down the inside of my thigh. There’s movement, a little bit of noise, but I can’t see a thing. It’s frustrating as all hell.

“Cas?” I whisper after a few more seconds tick by.

“Right here, babe.” His voice is coming from below me like he’s on the floor. The realization of what that means hits just as his mouth wraps around my cock. My knees nearly buckle but I manage to stay standing. It takes seconds before I’m back at the edge.

“Cas, ‘m gonna come.”

He doesn’t answer me, but he doesn’t stop sucking. I take it as permission. Hell, if I get punished for this, I don’t care. I need to come.

When I spill into his mouth, he grabs a handful of my ass to hold me steady. He licks me clean before standing up and removing my blindfold. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting in the room. He’s gorgeous. More than usual. Still sweaty and disheveled from the stage, but now with puffy lips that are glistening from a blow job he just gave me.

“I love you,” I whisper on a breath.

“I know.” He kisses my forehead before nuzzling my temple. “I love you too.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Castiel**

The bus is quiet as we drive toward Dallas. It’s maybe 2 or 3 in the morning. Dean’s passed out beside me, breathing slow and steady. I’m bored of watching him though – something I never thought would be able to happen. It’s just that I’m too wired to stay in the bed any longer. I need to be moving. I need to be doing something.

I start to walk through the bus, seeing that everyone is sleeping like I thought they’d be. It’s kind of a bummer. I’m in the mood to talk. Socialize. Laugh.

Doing the next best thing, I go to the driver. He looks at me in confusion before giving a polite, “Hello, Mr. Novak.”

“Hey, Rob.” I glance at the road. “We on schedule?”

“Ahead, actually. About an hour.”

“Nice nice.” I glance at the road again. “Naomi behind us, or?”

“They’re ahead about twenty-minutes, Sir.”

Smiling, I pat him on the shoulder and say, “Great. Stop at the next bar or club you see. Don’t worry. Won’t spend more than our extra hour in there.”

The man stutters, “I – Sir, that’s – I’m not – Naomi – is Dean – Sir, that’s not my job. I – I need to bring you all to the hotel.”

“And you _will_ bring us to the hotel. We’re just making a quick pit stop.”

“Sir-”

“I can have you fired like this,” I growl, snapping my fingers.

His eyes widen. “Right. Of course. I – yes. We’ll stop. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Good.” I pat him on the shoulder and stand up. “Make sure you don’t mention this little field trip to Naomi, either. Or anyone on the bus for that matter. No reason to even wake them up, right?”

\----

The bar is a complete dive, which works for me. It’s low lighting, packed with people already completely wasted, and no one cares to even glance my way. Since I’m on a time crunch, I order two shots of tequila with pickle juice chasers and a double vodka soda. The initial burn and buzz feel amazing.

When I find out it’s karaoke night? It’s fucking on.

I’m four tequila shots and two double vodka sodas in when my fake name is announced. I stumble to the stage, taking my third drink with me, and accept the microphone. The opening of the song I chose tarts and everyone cheers in excitement. Good thing I used to be secretly obsessed with boy bands, because the lyrics on the screen are blurry and dancing, so I mostly rely on memory. Not that anyone in this shit hole cares if I get the words right or not.

I sway to the music, liquid sloshing over my hand. People are singing along. At least I think they are. Who knows?

Who cares?

When my turn is over, I head back to the bar and smile at the bartender. He smirks and nods toward the stage. “Don’t quit your day job. That was terrible.”

“I’ll have you know, I am an excellent singer.”

“Okay, pal.” He places a shot in front of me without me needing to ask. “Last one. Then you can switch to water.”

“Fun sucker.”

He laughs. “It’s last call in ten anyway. No pouting.”

I roll my eyes and take the shot. There’s pickle juice sitting there but I don’t need it. I can barely feel the tequila anymore, anyway.

Reaching into my pocket, I take out a couple hundred-dollar bills and toss them on the bar. “I want to buy a round.”

“For who?”

“Everyone, duh.” I gesture to the large amount of money. “Best tequila you got. Whatever’s left over, keep as a tip.”

He stares at me like he’s waiting for me to admit that I’m joking. When I just add another hundred onto the pile and push it closer to him, he takes a step back and shrugs. A bottle of patron is taken off the top shelf as he belts over the music, “Tequila on the house! Now or never!”

As people rush toward him for their free liquor, he fills a shot glass for me and rolls his eyes. “Guess you can have one more.” Then he places a glass of water right beside it. “Then I suggest you drink that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I down the shot and leave the water, stumbling back to the parking lot. I don’t know what time I left, or what time it is now, but if I passed my hour the driver doesn’t say. He just looks at me with concern and starts the bus back up. I mumble a reminder not to tell anyone about this and head back to my room.

When I see the bathroom, I decide to take a shower so Dean can’t smell the bar on me. I giggle to myself. See? I’m obviously not that drunk if I can be so smart.

I’m brilliant.

Once the hot water is turned on, I sit down in the small shower and rest my head back against the wall. It feels amazing.

I start to write a new song in my head, getting excited. It sounds great. Fantastic. The label will love it.

After I run a soapy hand along patches of my body, enough to get rid of the scent, I’m out of the shower and walking to the studio. I grab a notebook, pen, and my guitar. The little room has sound proofing, but I mute my guitar as well.

This is just another reason why I must not be that drunk. I’m remembering to be responsible. Thinking clearly.

I’m not even tired.

Probably for the best anyway.

I have an entire album to write after all.

**Dean**

I stir awake as I feel the bus jerk to a stop. Castiel is laying beside me, still fast asleep, and I move beneath the blankets with the intention to pull him into my arms. That’s when I realize he’s naked. Not even wearing underwear. I get up on an elbow and glance around our tiny room. There aren’t any discarded clothes anywhere, but I know for a fact he went to sleep wearing my big shirt and his boxers.

Deciding not to push it, I sneak out of the bed without waking him up and pull on a pair of sweats. Most of the band is awake and eating breakfast in the little kitchen area. Charlie looks up at me when I enter and smiles. “Good morning!”

“’Morning.” I grab the coffee pot and a mug, pouring myself some.

“Cas still sleeping?” Gabriel asks.

“Yeah. He’s out cold.”

“I bet he is.” Chuck looks up from his cereal and laughs softly. “He was up late last night.”

I give Chuck a confused look. “No, he wasn’t. We went to bed right away.”

“Well then he must have woken up in the middle of the night, because there’s a notebook full of song lyrics and ideas sitting in the studio next to his guitar.”

Before I can process that, Charlie is teasing Chuck, “Why were you there so early in the morning? Actually planning to practice or something?”

“Psh. No. That’s where I keep my drugs, dude.”

As the two of them keep messing with each other, as they’re always doing, I look at Gabriel. He’s watching me with a pinched expression. The two of us silently communicate that this makes us concerned. When I walk to the studio, he follows.

The notebook is next to the guitar, just like Chuck said. Gabriel picks it up and starts leafing through it. His expression is indiscernible.

Annoyed at his silence, I ask, “So, what’s there?”

“A lot.” He tosses the notebook onto the spot where he found it. “Some of it’s decent. But who knows how long he’s been writing, right? It’s been a few days since he’s started again. I’m sure he’s been pouring out songs now that the gates are open.”

“Is it weird he was doing it last night?”

“No.” Gabriel shrugs a shoulder. “He probably just woke up with an idea and needed to get it out. We all do that sometimes.”

I nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Wanting to believe that everything is truly okay, I don’t mention the whole naked thing. There’s probably an explanation for that. Maybe Castiel got too hot. Or uncomfortable. Or when he woke up to write, he came back and thought he’d get naked so we could have sex in the morning.

Plenty of plausible reasons.

He’s not hypomanic.

He’s not.

\----

I keep a close eye on Castiel for the rest of the day. It makes me feel guilty. Every word, every movement. Every smile, every laugh. I analyze all of it.

Like now. He’s sitting on the big leather couch beside the host of the late-night show’s desk. The cameras are rolling. The live audience is listening intently. I can barely even process what he’s saying. All I can focus on is the way he keeps bouncing his knee. The louder than normal voice. The talking fast as his hands wave in the air.

“Now that we’ve discussed the tour and your upcoming album, let’s get to the more exciting stuff, shall we?”

The crowd cheers, but Castiel hides a smirk and plays pretend. “What do you mean?”

“Well-” the crowd cheers again as the screen behind them shows a picture of Castiel playing piano. When it shifts to a picture of him kissing me, the crowd roars.

“Oh, that,” Castiel teases. He laughs along with the host and the crowd.

The host leans forward like they’re in on a secret. “What’s his name?”

Castiel leans forward too. “Dean.”

“Dean,” the host repeats. Everyone screams. I don’t know why, my name isn’t all that great, but they’re extremely excited about it. I guess I should be happy about that. At least they’re accepting Castiel.

I just can’t stop worrying, though.

It’s ridiculous.

“Now, this is important. We need to know. Where did you meet and how did this happen?”

“Oh, come on.”

“We need to know.”

Castiel waves a hand and looks out at the crowd. “You guys don’t want to hear about all this, right?”

The audience doesn’t agree, making it clear they want every detail. The host shrugs. “I mean – you don’t _have_ to, but you can’t leave your fans disappointed!”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” Castiel adjusts the way he’s sitting and looks at the picture again. “Well, we met working.”

“Working? He works for you?” The crowd ‘oooohs’ and the host sing-songs, “Scandalous!”

“Technically, he doesn’t work for me. So don’t you worry – his career is safe.”

“Alright. So you met at work. Where were you? What were you wearing? What were you doing?” When Castiel just gives him a strange look, the host shrugs a shoulder. “I need to picture it.”

Castiel and the audience laughs. I wait for the tightness on his face at the memory of meeting me. Maybe a sign that he’s uncomfortable or worried about lying. Just a flash of something.

His grin just widens. “He was hired and brought to the hotel the band and I were staying at to meet me. He’s head of my security.”

“Ahhh, I see. So, he makes sure to keep you nice and secure,” he says with a wink.

“Maybe I keep him secure,” Castiel says back.

The crowd roars and the host’s eyes go wide as he makes another one of those stupid noises, and I have to clench my fists and teeth to keep from showing any signs of anger.

“So, what? Did you meet him and jump him on the spot?”

“No, I gave him a minute to get adjusted first.” Castiel winks. “Then I jumped him.”

I blow air through my nostrils. It’s not even the lying. It’s the way he’s lying. The tone. The cockiness. Like I’m some whore he’s talking about with his buddies.

“How long have the two of you been seeing each other?”

“About a week or two.”

“Fast.”

Castiel smiles. “He made it impossible not to fall in love with him. He’s an amazing man.”

Everyone ‘awws’ and cheers. Even though I’m still pissed, I’ll admit that was nice of him to say.

“Now, before we wrap this up, I have to ask the question. You know I do.” The crowd cheers. Castiel sighs deeply and rolls his eyes. I’m confused until the host asks, “What is _Lifelines_ about?”

_Oh. That. _

I prepare for him to get upset, or to laugh it off. Instead, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks out at the audience before back at the host. “I wrote that song when I was seventeen. I had been kicked out of my house after refusing to go to a camp that would supposedly fix my sexuality.”

The audience and the host are silent, so Castiel releases a shaky breath and continues, “My parents spent two years trying to fix me themselves, with the help of our priest. It – well, it obviously didn’t work. They were crazy. It took me a long time to realize nothing was wrong with me, and in this industry, ya know, I wasn’t ashamed of my sexuality, but I didn’t think the band deserved to handle any backlash. It wasn’t until Dean that I found something worth breaking that rule of mine. I’m not sure who was happier for me, myself or my band. Especially my brother. He quite literally saved my life.”

I hold my breath and I feel Naomi grab my bicep, squeezing. The audience is clapping now, though. Celebrating Gabriel. Celebrating Castiel’s happiness. Celebrating Castiel and I.

All the anger I felt from earlier is gone in a heartbeat. Castiel looks at me from the stage and beams. I mouth _I love you._ He winks.

He’s not hypomanic.

_He’s not._


	13. Chapter 13

**Castiel**

There isn’t a word for the feeling inside my body right now, but I’m loving it. I don’t want it to stop. When we get back to the hotel, I’m on Dean in seconds. Talking about him at the interview was like torture. All I wanted the entire time was to walk out, grab him, and fuck him up against the nearest surface.

I’ll do that now, instead.

Once Dean is pinned against the wall, I slot my knee in between his legs and make him spread them. His hands tense where they landed on the wall to catch himself. I wish I could see his face to know why.

“You good?” I pant, already unzipping my pants.

“I – uh. Not tonight, Cas.”

My hand pauses and I take a step back. Dean’s never turned down sex before. He’s always up for it. Maybe he just doesn’t want rough tonight? I could do that. I could be gentle. Less controlling.

“It’s okay. Let’s get in the bed, alright? We can go slow tonight.”

“No, Cas.” He pushes me back – softly, but firmly. I’m once again reminded of his strength that he usually keeps so tightly coiled inside himself. “I don’t want to have sex tonight. We should just sleep. Get rest. It’s nearly three in the morning and tomorrow is a busy day.”

I look at him like he’s crazy. “Rest? I’m not tired.”

“I don’t know how. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay.” I shrug. There are things I can do that don’t include him. That’s fine. “Go ahead. Go to bed. I’ll be back later.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “What?”

“I’ll be back later. I’m gonna go to the bus. Maybe work a little.”

“Cas, babe, it’s the middle of the night.”

“And?”

“And you should sleep.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not tired.”

He pauses. Then asks, “Are you okay, baby?”

There it is. The question that always comes. I expect it from everyone else, god forbid I’m happy for more than a day, but I didn’t expect it from Dean. I’m not in the mood for this. If I want him to not worry, I need to make him feel better. Pretend to not be so happy.

_How stupid is that? Shouldn’t my own boyfriend want me to be happy?_

_It’s ridiculous. _

“I’m fine. Just adrenaline still from that interview.” I wave it off. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower and we can turn in.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

His eyes scan my body, and I wonder what he’s looking for. It’s not like I’ll have a neon sign announcing if I’m manic or not. Which, in case you were wondering, I’m fucking not. This is just paranoia. He’s worried about me.

It would be sweet if it wasn’t so goddamn annoying.

\----

I sneak away after I know for a fact he’s completely passed out. Since he has super hearing from all his training, I don’t risk unzipping my suitcase and digging through it. I’m wearing boxers anyway. Good enough.

The biggest task is opening and closing the door without him hearing. Thankfully our bed is pretty far away, and the door doesn’t squeak or make any noise besides a soft click.

Then I’m free.

I decide to take the stairs instead of the elevator. The exercise will be good for me, considering all the time I spend on a bus or in a hotel room or studio. Plus, it’s fun. The staircase is quiet and empty. I play a game where I see how many steps I can skip without falling on my ass. Might be a bit bruised tomorrow, but I laugh my ass off doing it, so who cares.

When I get into the hotel lobby, the woman working the front desk gives me a strange look. I try to walk by her but she stops me. “Mr. Novak? Are you okay?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Um, Mr. Novak, Sir. Are you – maybe you should go back to sleep? Are you – uh… sleep walking?”

I pause, turning to look at her. “No?”

“Okay. Well,” she eyes my body, then mumbles, “Is there something I could maybe help you with?”

“Nah. Thanks though.” I wave goodbye and skip out of the lobby, whistling a tune to myself. It’s actually pretty good. Maybe I’ll play it on my guitar and come up with some ideas.

A camera clicks as I’m walking across the parking lot to where the bus is parked, the flash bright in the otherwise dark area, but I don’t care. These are cool boxers. Maybe I’ll get an endorsement or something. Make some cash off it. Take Dean to every rooftop pool that exists. Fuck him in every single one.

The bus is locked. I didn’t really think about that.

It’s a small issue. Nothing to worry about.

I just hoist myself up using a trash can, smash a window, and crawl inside. My arm gets sliced by the glass and I stare at it once I’m inside. The blood drips lazily down the slope of my forearm, pooling in the cracks of my palm and slipping between my fingers. It’s familiar. Like an old friend.

It’ll get in the way of my guitar playing, though. My fingers will be too slippery to play chords.

With a sigh, I walk to the bathroom and clean up a little. The wound is still bleeding so I take off my boxers and use them to create a make-shift bandage. Very smart of me, if I do say so myself.

Grinning, I grab a beer from the fridge, not caring that it’s warm, and head back to the studio.

I can feel it.

Tonight’s the night I’ll finish the album.

**Dean**

I don’t know what wakes me up. Maybe it’s just the sense that something’s wrong. That used to happen in the military. We’d get this sixth sense and stir awake. Next minute, we’d be wrapped up in a fire fight or taking on mortars.

In this case, it’s a missing boyfriend.

“Fuck.”

I roll out of bed and grab my sweatpants, stumbling around the room as I tug them up. I know he’s not here, but I have to at least check every nook and cranny.

“Fuck.”

Yanking a shirt over my head and stuffing my feet in my shoes, I run through the last conversation we had together. The bus. He planned on going to the bus.

_Please be in the fucking bus. _

_Alive. _

_Please, Cas, be alive. _

Once I have my gun from the hotel room safe, I’m out the door and running. I’m halfway through the lobby when I hear the night manager yell, “Are you Castiel Novak’s security?”

I nearly stumble as I stop. “Yeah? You seen him?”

She looks incredibly nervous. “He went out the doors about an hour ago. I didn’t want to cause trouble, but he was in his boxers and was acting weird. But rock stars stay here all the time, and they’re always doing crazy stuff.”

It sounds like she’s trying to assure herself. Make herself feel less guilty in case something happened to Castiel.

I’m not going to make her feel better. She should have fucking called me or Naomi.

Without saying anything, I head out of the hotel and jog through the parking lot to the bus. It’s locked. I yank at the door a few more times before slamming my palm against it. “Cas? Cas open the door. Right now. Open the door, Cas!”

Nothing.

Growling under my breath, I walk around the bus to see if there’s another way in.

There is.

A broken fucking window.

He must not have had a key either.

There’s a trash can beneath it that I use to hoist myself up. There are glass shards still sticking out so I take my shirt off and wrap it around my hand, knocking them away before climbing through. When I get inside, I see blood.

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s… fuck.

I run to the bathroom, images of my mom in our bathtub flashing in my mind. Bright red diluted with water. The bus doesn’t have a tub, but it has a shower he could be sitting in as he bleeds out.

Tears prick at my eyes as I yank the bathroom door open and step into the small area. Blood is all over the floor and the sink, but he’s not in here.

“Fuck,” I whisper, stumbling back out of the bathroom and heading further down the bus. I check every room as I shout for him. Over and over I shout for him. Scream.

I’m crying by the time I find him, and I don’t care. There’s no shred of self-preservation here. No embarrassment. My only focus is Cas. Find Cas. Make sure Cas is safe.

He’s standing ass naked in the studio, awake and fine for the moment. I try to catch my breath as my eyes take the room in. Papers are everywhere. On the floor, the couch, the table. Taped to the walls. Taped to the other instruments. He’s talking under his breath and pointing to the different sheets of paper. His guitar is in one hand, the bottom of it dragging against the floor.

There are empty beer bottles scattered among the chaos.

“Cas?”

He’s singing a loose line of a song, changing words to see how they fit.

“Cas.”

He grabs a pen and hurriedly writes it on a paper taped to Gabriel’s keyboard.

“Cas!”

He jumps, dropping the guitar and turning to look at me. His face splits into a grin and he launches forward. I catch him easily, letting him hug me as I look at the room again. There are traces of blood everywhere now that I’m looking closer. Bloody fingerprints and smudges on some of the papers. Drops on the floor and his guitar.

Tapping into my training, I force out all emotion and go into fixing mode. I gently guide him away from me and hold him at arm’s length so I can assess him. His eyes are bloodshot, probably from lack of sleep as much as the beer. He’s jittery, body moving a bit with every breath. One of his arms is wrapped with boxers drenched in blood.

I grab the hand of his injured arm and pick it up so his arm is stretched out between us. “What happened?”

“No big deal. Just an accident.”

“From the window?”

“Yeah.” He grins at me. “Did you see that? It was badass. You shoulda been there. I was all action movie hero. Minus the whole getting hurt thing, but no big deal. I fixed it, see?”

“Yes. I see.” I give him a tight smile. “We need to take care of this, though. There’s a lot of blood. I want a doctor to make sure you’re okay. You might need stitches.”

He looks at me like I’m insane. “It’s handled. Come look. I’ve written a ton of songs! This one right here,” he tries to pull away to show me, his words stopping when he realizes I’m not letting go of him.

“It’s not handled, Cas. This – none of this is handled.”

“Of what? What else besides this needs to be handled?”

I take a deep breath. “Cas, baby, I think maybe you’re having a bad night. No big deal. No reason to freak out. I would just really like to bring you to the hospital, okay?”

He wrenches away from me, eyes wide. “Like a fucking psych ward?”

“No.” Though that’s crossed my mind. “For your arm, Cas.”

“I already said it’s _fine_,” he growls.

“Your arm isn’t fine! At least let me bring you to the hotel room and patch you up myself with my med kit.” I eye him up. “And you could maybe take a quick nap.”

“I’m not tired.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“When was the last time you minded your own fucking business?”

My heart starts to race. This isn’t going to go well. The fight is right beneath the surface, a bomb just waiting for us to dig it up.

It has to be dug up. Before it explodes and kills him.

“Castiel, look at me. Look in my eyes, okay?”

He rolls his eyes before meeting my gaze. “Fine. Looking. Now what?”

“Now listen. Just hear me out.”

“K.”

“You are standing ass naked at four in the morning, in a bus you had to break into, with an arm that’s bleeding a pretty serious amount, with empty beer bottles all over the place. You can’t stand still, even now you’re fidgeting, and you’re talking a mile a minute. As far as I know, you haven’t slept in at least 24 hours, but I’m getting a feeling it’s been more. All of this in here – these papers? It’s important and it’s great and I am so unbelievably happy that you’re writing again. I am. But this here? This is too much.”

“Me being happy and excited about my music is too much?”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“Then stop talking to me like a fucking child.”

I nod, trying to agree with him. Trying to meet him halfway here. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just know that sometimes it’s hard to see what you’re doing when you’re in the middle of it, and I just-”

“Middle of what?” he asks defensively.

“Of,” I pause, unsure of what to say. If I say it’s an episode, he’ll blow up. There must be another word I can use.

He doesn’t give me the chance. “This isn’t an episode, Dean.”

“Cas-”

“It’s not! I’m in love. Happy. Just finally came out, finally talked about _Lifelines_ and my past. I’m _finally_ feeling alive and free and happy, and you’re fucking ruining it! Just – just stop!”

He’s waving his arm around and his make-shift bandage is coming loose, the boxers just seconds away from falling off. “Cas, please honey, calm down.”

“No! You fucking calm down! You’re the one freaking out over nothing. Over me writing fucking songs. Who cares what I’m wearing?”

“Well, the paparazzi outside for one.”

“Fuck the paparazzi, and you can go fuck yourself right with them!”

Even though I know he doesn’t mean the things he’s saying, they hurt all the same. “Just let me get you in the hotel, okay? You can be with someone other than me if you’re this pissed at me. You can go sit with Gabe. I don’t care, okay? Whatever you want. But I’m not leaving you in here, and I’m not leaving until that arm is fixed!”

“I. Am. Fine,” Castiel screams.

“Fine! Then I’m staying right here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. It’s my job to keep you safe.” 

“Then you’re fired!”

I shake my head. “You’re not who hired me. And I didn’t just mean my job as your security guard. I meant as your boyfriend. If you can’t take care of yourself – which you clearly can’t right now – then I’m staying.”

“Fuck you, Dean!” 

He shoves past me and heads toward the bus door. I follow. If he honestly believes he can run from me, he’s worse than I thought. 

“Cas, just listen to me. Please. I don’t care if this is an episode, okay? It doesn’t matter. What matters is your arm. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you need a doctor.”

“Stop! You aren’t going to trick me. I’m not going to a hospital. I know what you’ll do. You’ll all make them keep me. You can’t! I’m fine!”

“Baby-“

“What happened to the guy who said he believed me? The guy who said I know my body better than anyone? The one who trusted me?”

“He fell in love with you!”

He notches his chin and takes a step away from me. “Well, I don’t love you back. This has been very illuminating. You can go.”

My knees buckle and I grab onto the wall for support. “Cas-”

“Go!”

“No.”

“God, I hate you! I fucking hate you and everyone else! It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown ass man. And if you’re not going to leave, I will.”

I scoff. “Naked?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Put some fucking pants on, Cas.”

“Fuck off.”

My control snaps. This isn’t happening. I don’t care if I’m fired, I don’t care if we just broke up, Castiel needs to be safe. That’s the priority. My feelings need to wait.

**Castiel**

I’m shaking with rage. This is so unbelievably ridiculous. Dean was supposed to be different. He understood me. Trusted me. He made me so fucking happy.

But it was all a lie. Complete lie.

I can’t believe I ever believed I loved him.

What a joke.

“You know what?” I bark, tired of this back and forth. “Fine. I’ll put fucking pants on and go to Gabe’s room, and then you can leave me the fuck alone.”

He looks hurt, he even flinches, but I don’t care. I turn my back to him and storm down the hall to our – no, _my_ – bedroom. I yank on a pair of sweatpants and head back to where he’s still standing in the kitchen. I push past him and he lets me, just watching as I unlock the door and exit the bus. The boxers from my arm falls off.

Surprisingly, especially when considering how fucking worried the asshole is about my arm, he doesn’t say anything. Just lets me keep walking. I hear the paparazzi, see the flashes, notice that Dean’s yelling at them. I don’t care about any of it. I just storm into the lobby, blood dripping down my arm, and head straight to the elevators. He slips in before the doors can close and the two of us stand in the tiny box, side by side but a thousand miles apart.

“Cas-”

“Don’t,” I warn.

He sighs a broken, “Okay.”

Unfortunately, he has me trapped now. He might agree not to talk, but that doesn’t mean he’ll leave me alone. Backing me into a corner, he reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt off. If I wasn’t so pissed at him, I’d probably try to have sex with him. He’s hot.

Hell, maybe angry sex would work. Maybe I’d be able to dominate him into believing me. Remind him how happy we were.

Maybe it wasn’t a lie.

“Touch my gun, I’ll make sure you go into a psych ward immediately. Understood?”

I flick my eyes to his waistband and nod.

He’s doing something with my arm now, but I don’t care. I just use my free hand to reach up and grab a fistful of his hair. Dean grunts as I pull him into a brutal kiss. I try to push him back so he’s the one pinned against a wall but he’s like a block of steel.

Growling, I order, “Get on your knees.”

“No. Hold still.”

I look down at what he’s doing, rolling my eyes when I see that he’s wrapping my arm up. Whatever makes him happy, I guess. I’ll pick my battles.

The second my arm is tied off and he’s taking his hand off me, I’m trying to back him into the wall of the elevator again. He’s impossible to move.

“Stop.”

“Dean, either get against that wall or on your knees.”

“No. Seriously, Cas, stop.”

The bell dings for our floor but I stop him before he can leave, grabbing his bicep and squeezing it. He stares down at my hand on him before looking back up at me. There’s no fear in his expression. Not even anger. He just looks broken.

He doesn’t have to be broken.

Can’t he see I’m trying to fix this?

“Come on, Dean. Everything will feel better once we’re together. I might even sleep after, okay?”

“No. Come on, Cas.”

Shaking my head, I grab him and tug, sending him off balance. I crash our lips together and start pulling at his belt.

One second I'm biting his lip.

The next, I’m being pushed away with a single hand on my chest, pinned against the wall, looking into green eyes that are on fire. “Red.”

My knees buckle. “What?”

“Red, Cas. Red.”

“Dean-”

“Come on. I’m bringing you to Gabe.”

“Dean-”

“Stop. Just – just stop.”

He starts walking me down the hall. I don’t fight it, too focused on understanding what’s going on.

“Why haven’t you wanted to have sex today, Dean?”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You’re my boyfriend. We’re supposed to have sex!”

He glances at me before picking up the pace, still holding my arm and guiding me toward the band’s suite.

“Dean-”

“I’m not going to have sex with you. The fact that you think that would fix this right now proves how out of it you are.”

I scoff. “It proves nothing.”

“You literally just broke up with me, then tried jumping me in the elevator, then told me I should have to have sex with you because I’m your boyfriend. See why I’m a little confused? Sound erratic maybe?”

“Whatever. Fuck off.”

“There ya go. That sounds more familiar.” He slams his fist against the door a few times, not looking at me. It takes a few seconds, but not as many as I had thought there’d be with how late it is. Chuck is who answers the door.

He takes one look at me, mumbles, “Fuck,” and disappears. Dean pushes me into the room and closes the door. He leans back against it, one hand on his gun and the other in his jeans pocket. He won’t even look at me.

Fine.

If he doesn’t want to accept my apology, then fuck it. We’ll stay broken up. This really was all a lie.

Who cares?

Not me.

**Dean**

Gabriel comes up to me with his eyes averted. He looks guilty and worried. “He said you can take care of the arm.”

I sag against the door in relief. He was in the bathroom with Castiel for ten minutes, and I was starting to get sick to my stomach at the thought that we’d have to force him to go to the hospital in order to handle it. “Perfect. I just need to go to my room and grab my kit.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, Dean. He… uh – he has some stipulations.”

“Oh?”

“You can’t talk to him. Or look at him. Or touch him more than necessary. And the second you’re done, he’s – well – he’s demanding you leave.”

“I figured.”

Gabriel finally looks me in the eye. “He broke up with you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t mean it. He-”

I put my hand up. “I know. I’ve been here. I get how it goes. My mom had the same issues. Some of the things she used to say or do… I understood it wasn’t true. It wasn’t really her.”

“Still hurts though, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I swallow a lump in my throat, but my voice is still raspy when I say, “It hurts like hell.”

He winces. “Maybe it is best if you stay away, though. I mean, not _away_ away. Stay nearby. Maybe keep traveling with us. I don’t think he’ll want you to be far away when he comes down.”

Relief floods through my entire body. It feels like the weight of the world lifts off my chest. Well, maybe not the whole world, but a major section of it at least. “Thank you, Gabe. I think I would have gone fucking insane if I wasn’t near him during this. Listen, just keep a real close eye on him, okay? I’ll make it quick. Just grab my kit and put away my gun, then I’ll be back.”

“Of course.”

I hurry out of the room and down the hall, my hands shaking. The first thing I do is grab my phone, dialing Sammy’s number at the same time as I lock my gun up.

“Dean?” he grumbles after a few rings. “Jeez – it’s fucking early, man.” His voice changes, becoming sharp and urgent. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s bad, Sammy. He’s up so fucking high and I tried bringing him down but I couldn’t and he’s bleeding and he wouldn’t let me help he said – god, he said some really terrible things and I’m scared and hurt and I feel like – like I’m gonna lose him. Really lose him. He won’t let me near him, won’t let me stay here, and now I have to leave. What if they mess up? What if he slips away? He could – I can’t lose him, Sammy. I can’t go through that again. I can’t. I can’t. I just – fuck, I can’t.”

“Shhh, Dean. It’s okay. Just breathe.” I move the phone away from my mouth but keep it against my ear, releasing a choked sob. He continues talking so I put a hand over my mouth to muffle my continued cries. “He didn’t mean what he was saying, okay? You know that. He’s not thinking clearly, Dean. And you have to trust his family and friends. They kept him alive this long, right? All they have to do is keep him safe for a little while longer. I’m sure he’ll be fine, okay? You’re not going to lose him. He’s not mom.”

“I shouldn’t have taken this contract. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Dean don’t say that. I know you. You love him. There’s no way you regret taking this contract.”

I rub at my eyes with my fingers, then squeeze the bridge of my nose. After a deep breath through my nose, I count to three and release it. I have a job to do. Right now. Emotions can’t be here. People die when emotions are involved.

Slipping comfortably into my soldier mentality, I tell Sam, “I need to go. I’m sorry for this. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, Dean. Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I stuff my phone in my pocket and wipe my face clean again. After tugging a sweatshirt on to replace the shirt I used on Castiel, I grab my med-kit from my duffel and head back to the band’s room. Everyone is awkwardly quiet and avoiding looking at me when I enter. I don’t understand why until the shouted words begin to register.

“- never fucking hired him! Couldn’t you tell? He sucks at his fucking job! You seriously thought he could help me? All of you thought he could help me? He ruined me! He ruins everything! He doesn’t want me? Fine. I don’t fucking want him either! Get him the fuck away from me! I hate him! I hate all of you! None of you want me to be happy! He doesn’t want me to be happy! He-”

I tune him out and take a breath.

A job to do.

I have a job to do.

Safety.

That’s it.

Fix his arm.

Get out.

Wait until he wants me again.

What he’s saying isn’t true. It’s not. It can’t be. He doesn’t mean any of it.

My eyes meet Gabriel’s and I can’t stand the look he gives me, so I look away. Preparing for an extremely angry Castiel, who clearly hates me in the moment, I push the bathroom door open and enter it. Naomi is sitting on the edge of the tub staring at the ground while Castiel paces back and forth in front of her, screaming his head off.

At least my damn shirt is still on his arm.

Since one of the rules is not looking or talking to him, I look at Naomi and tell her, “Came to stitch him up quick.”

“Okay.” She clears her throat and peeks up at Castiel. “Castiel, why don’t you sit so Dean can fix your arm?”

I hear Castiel scoff but keep my eyes on the ground. In my peripheral vision, I watch as he slams the toilet lid down and sits on it. “Fucking do it, then.”

Gritting my teeth, I kneel in front of him and grab his wrist so his arm is turned the way it’s supposed to be. When it’s where it should be, I let go and start to dig in my bag. I pull out tweezers in case there are slivers of glass still in his cut, grabbing my flashlight too so I can see it better.

“Might hurt when I remove the shirt, and you – I mean, _he_ – might bleed a little more, but don’t worry. That’s normal.” I glance up at Naomi to keep up the ruse I’m talking to her. The sad look she gives me twists my gut.

I carefully unwrap my shirt from his arm and take in the damage. It’s still bleeding but not nearly as badly as it was the first time I saw it. That’s a good sign, at least.

But as I check it out with my flashlight, I see that it’s still pretty bad. Too long, too deep, and too wide. He definitely needs stitches. There are also a few specks of glass still in there.

Sticking the light between my teeth to hold it, I gently grab Castiel’s arm and scoot a bit closer. I take the tweezers and begin pulling the silvers out, putting each one up on the bathroom counter. After I have five out and can’t find any more, I put the tweezers beside the glass fragments and reach into my bag for the cleaning solution and gauze.

I clean and wipe the area. He hisses through his teeth and I notice his muscles all tensing. “Sorry,” I whisper, knowing I shouldn’t but unable not to.

He ignores it, which isn’t the best that could happen, but isn’t the worst either.

Right before starting the stitches, I can’t help but glance up at him. His eyes are shut and his jaw is locked. “This is going to hurt. You need to try and hold still, though.”

“Don’t. Talk. To. Me,” he growls, keeping his eyes shut.

I sigh and adjust my body, then begin to stitch him up. He winces but holds still. Unable to stop myself, I gently rub circles with my thumb on his arm where I’m holding him. Castiel might not admit it in the state he’s in, but he relaxes.

Once he’s stitched up, and bandaged properly, I clean up the area and pack up my bag. I look at Naomi and give her a shaky smile. “Make sure you keep an eye on it, Naomi. That needs to stay in place and dry until tomorrow night. Then make sure he washes it carefully, keeps it clean. You can put some Vaseline on it and use those bandages I put there on the counter. If he gets sick at all, especially fever or chills, or if it starts to swell or ooze or get hot to the touch, please call m- a doctor. It might be infected.”

“Okay, Dean. Thank you.”

“Yeah. No problem.” I bite my bottom lip, eyes darting to Castiel. “Well. Alright. Goodbye then.”

He looks down at his arm, away from me. I find it a little hard to breathe.

So, I do the only thing I can.

I leave.   



	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for verbal Abuse/Homophobic slurs, and suicidal thoughts/mental breakdown

** Castiel **

I’ve never been more annoyed and suffocated in all of my life. Seriously. At this rate, I’m going to kill myself just to get away from my fucking band and Naomi.

At least Dean left.

The guard in my room is stiff as a board and awkward. He looks at me like I’m something he’s going to break, so clearly he’s up to date on my mental issues.

Correction: the mental issues everyone fucking things I’m having.

I won’t make it through this show. No way. I’m over all of this. The people. The noise. The helicopter parenting by people are aren’t my fucking parents.

Glaring down at the bandage on my arm, I get an idea. A brilliant one. I turn to my wardrobe and act like I’m pulling a shirt on.

“Oh, fuck!” I hiss.

The guard turns, eyes wide. “Is everything okay, sir?”

“Yeah. Well, no. I ripped my damn bandage off. It’s fine though.”

“Uh, Naomi asked me to make sure that stays clean and covered.”

I shrug it off. “Don’t worry about it. You’d have to go find the bag of stuff Naomi has and the show’s about to start. I’ll be fine.”

“No. Just – uh, shit.”

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to leave you alone. Can you – can you come with me?”

I look at my wardrobe, wincing. “My stylist is going to be here any second, and he’ll kill me if I’m not dressed.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not even bleeding.”

“No, I’ll go. Your stylist is going to be here anyway. Just – just stay, okay?”

“Yeah, man. Thank you.”

I count to ten after the idiot leaves, then tug on a hooded sweatshirt and a ball cap, making my own exit. There’s a hall to my right and I duck down it while everyone runs around like crazy. When I pass a cart full of waters, I grab as many as I can carry so I look like I’m actually supposed to be here. Just some low-end intern that no one even looks at. 

When I get in the alley, I dump the waters and head toward downtown where I know it’ll be busiest. I don’t even want to drink or party or do something wild – that’s how I know I’m not manic. I just couldn’t breathe back there. The idea of walking around downtown where no one bothers me for a few hours, doing nothing and having nothing expected of me? It sounds fucking amazing. 

Except my phone starts to blow up only ninety seconds into my blissfully free walk. I put it on silent and duck into a coffee shop. They haven’t let me drink coffee at all today, and I’ve only been given healthy shit to eat. I’m ready to chug an espresso and eat all the cake or muffins they have to offer.

Once I have my Americano with an extra shot of espresso, two cake pops and a double chocolate chunk brownie, I head to the furthest corner I can find and sit with my back to the rest of the room, adjusting my cap and hoodie to make sure I’m as covered as possible. Curious, I pull out my phone and start scrolling through my messages. They can’t track my phone anymore – I paid a shit ton of money for some hacker to fix that – but if they get the police involved, they’ll find me. I should probably ditch it sooner than later.

The messages are kind of entertaining, though. They’ll say anything to get me to come back. And the reasons they think I left are ridiculous. Like Gabriel’s most recent message. This has nothing to do with dad? Why would he be going on about what dad said and how it’s not true? I could give two shits about what dad told me all those years ago.

In fact, I’m going to fucking call my dad right now and let him know exactly how much I don’t fucking care about what he said and did to me. He holds no more power. None.

And I’m going to fucking tell him.

Taking my coffee on the go and sticking a cake pop in my back pocket, I head outside again. When I find a quiet enough side street, I dial that oh-so-familiar number.

Every ring echoes in my chest, adding pressure.

_This might have been a bad idea._

_They’re probably sleeping._

_They might not even live at this house anymore._

_They-_

“Novak residence.”

My knees buckle and I rest my back against the brick side of a building. “Dad?”

There’s a long pause, then, “Castiel.”

“Uh,” I close my eyes, trying to remember what I wanted to say to him. “I’m happy.”

“Are you?” His tone is condescending.

And I hate him, because he knows. He’s always known.

But I lie. “Yes. I just thought you should know. My band is great. Internationally famous. I have two houses. Millions of dollars. I’m happy and in love, and I wanted you to know that you don’t hold anything over me anymore. In fact, I feel bad for you.”

“Hmm.” I know that _hmm_. That usually came before a slow smirk followed by a sharp comment or slap across the face. “Tell me, Castiel. How can you be happy when you’re nothing but a godless fag? When you’re clearly losing your mind? Your mother and I saw the pictures. Your poor sister was teased at school today because of her worthless faggot ex-brother who decided to walk around in public in a pair of underwear. And those pictures of you covered in blood, arguing with that poor man you ruined? That doesn’t look happy either. Is he who hurt you, Castiel? Damn man is a decorated SEAL. An honorable man. Did he hurt you because he realized you infected him with your vile disease? How could that make you happy? How can any of it? Tell me, Castiel. Really. I’m truly curious.”

Trembling too hard to remain standing, I sink to the ground. I know the moment I open my mouth I’ll begin to cry. I manage to whisper, “I didn’t ruin him,” before putting my face in my shoulder and releasing a shaky, choked sob.

“Keep telling yourself that, Castiel.” Acid burns in my stomach and crawls up my throat. I wonder if maybe it will choke me.

I’m sure it wouldn’t be a terrible way to die.

“Is there anything else you needed, Castiel? Other than to call and give me a good laugh?”

Gripping the phone tight enough to make my fingers ache, I force myself to level my breathing and talk to him. This fucker doesn’t get the last say. He doesn’t. “I just wanted to tell you that you no longer hold any power over me. I don’t care what you think or what you say. I am happy.”

He chuckles darkly and asks, “Then why are you crying?”

Unable to hear his voice any longer, I hang up and throw the phone against the cement. I launch to my feet and slam the heel of my shoe into it over and over until it looks the way I feel. Then I run.

**Dean**

Frantic knocking pulls me out of my sleep – the first I had managed to get since the fight with Castiel last night. I snag my gun from the side table and stumble to the door. When I open it mid-yawn, I’m grabbed by the front of the shirt by Gabriel. “Tell me he’s here. Please!”

“Who?” My breath catches. “Shit. You have to be fucking _kidding_ me.”

“He slipped his new guard.”

“Couldn’t even take care of him for 24 fucking hours.” I grab my jacket and push past him, storming toward the elevator. Putting my hand in the air as he follows, I tell him, “Not pissed at you. Sorry. Pissed at the situation.”

“It’s fine. I almost punched you there, which would have been really fucking stupid because you’re twice my size and a trained killer.”

With a dry laugh, I slam my hand against the elevator button. As we stand together, waiting for the elevator, the silence swallows us whole. “Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“Where was his head at? Before he left?”

“He was still up, but might have been coming down a little. Looking at things now, he was probably playing us, because the minute we let our guard down he was out the door. Skipped the concert.”

The elevator opens and we step in.

It moves slower than I believed physically possible.

“Call the police?” I ask in a raw voice.

“Yup. They’re out looking. So is the whole team, the band, even our damn roadies.”

“Track his phone?”

“Can’t. He must have destroyed it. Even the cops couldn’t get a signal.”

My eyes slide shut. I can’t panic. Panicking gets people killed.

Panicking will get Castiel killed.

Trying to calculate and form a plan, I ask more questions. “Where is everyone looking? Did you check the bus? His hotel room? I know those are obvious, but sometimes those slip people’s minds.”

“We checked. And we have someone in his room and someone in his bus, in case he comes to either.”

“Good. That’s – that’s good.”

“Other than that? We don’t even know where to start. It’s late at night so it’s likely he’s at a bar or a club, which must be at least a hundred in this city.”

My stomach flips over itself, threatening to rebel. The second we’re out of the elevator, we both start toward the exit, just a notch slower than a run. “We should split up. It’s a waste to be in the same place.”

“I know,” he grumbles. “Keep your phone on. I’m going to check out the known gay clubs in this area. That’s where Chuck and Charlie went too. One uptown and one downtown.”

“Great. That’s great.” I suck in as much air as I can, scanning the road. “I honestly don’t know where I’m going, but I’m starting this way.”

“Good luck.”

“You too.”

I turn away but look back at him when he yells, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“What if he’s-” Gabriel’s words trail off like he loses his air.

That’s okay. He doesn’t need to finish the question. It’s the same one that’s been running through my head on repeat since he showed up at my door.

“He’s not, Gabe. He’s not.”

“Okay.” He wipes his tears and forces a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

\----

Within fifteen minutes, I’m a fucking wreck. I pull my phone out as I continue frantically searching along the streets. Benny answers after one ring.

“Winchester. Missing me already? What’s it been? Two hours?”

“Ben?” I croak, not caring if he realizes I’m crying.

“Fuck. What’s going on? What happened?”

“We lost him. He’s – he snuck away and they fucking lost him and now they have no idea where he is and they can’t track his fucking phone and I’m panicking. I can’t think straight, Ben. I can’t distance myself. You need to help me. You – you have to do my job right now. What do I do, Ben? I’ve – I’ve never felt this. I’ve never frozen.”

He takes a deep breath. I follow his lead, taking one too. “Okay. You have the advantage. They’re probably looking at generic places. Bars. Clubs. Restaurants. You know him better than that, Dean. What does he like? Special things or a special place. Maybe something that he can find in every city he goes. A constant. Maybe something that brings him peace. Somewhere he goes when he needs to think or be happy or away.”

“You’re fucking amazing.” I release a breathy laugh. “I gotta go. Thanks, Ben.”

\----

Castiel’s there. On the roof of the Hilton. Beside the pool as he stares off at the city. A bottle of tequila hanging from his right hand.

Standing too damn close to the edge.

I send a text to Gabe as I slowly approach Castiel, knowing I can’t startle him or upset him in case he falls or jumps. What do I even say? I’ve thought for years about what I would have said for my mom if I had been old enough, if I had been there, if I could have stopped her. None of those words mean anything right now. It’s all just shit about things getting better and the meaning of life and it wouldn’t have helped. I understand that now. 

But I have to say something.

“Cas?”

His shoulders jump. Then he releases a sobbed, “Go ‘way.”

“No. I’m not leaving. Not ever.” He just cries harder. “Baby, come here please. Just – just come here, please.”

“No.” He lifts his head and looks out at the city again. His body is teetering. He’s too close to the edge for teetering. “Don’ bother, Dean. Wha’ver ya say –the ‘baby’s’ ‘n the promises ‘n the bullshit, jus’ fuckin’ save it. ‘S all jus’ ta keep me from jumpin’. You don’ mean any of it.”

“Cas, you know that’s not true. You have to know that baby.”

He takes a swig of his tequila. The wind blows. He sways.

“’M sorry for ruinin’ you.”

“What?”

“’M sorry. I jus’ blew intayer life ‘n demolished it. He was right. ‘M nothin’. Fuckin’ worthless fag.”

There isn’t a word for the feeling that swells inside me. “If you’re talking about your father, stop right now. He’s not right. Not in the least. And you did not ruin my life. Not at all.”

“Go ‘way.”

“Cas-”

“Why?” He whips around, accidentally dropping the bottle of tequila. I watch it roll once, twice, and over the edge of the roof.

And then it’s gone.

Just… gone.

Castiel doesn’t even notice. “Why would you even wan’me ‘live? Ya better off. All you. ‘M a fuckin’ failure.” He barks a laugh that morphs into a sob. His arms spread in the air and he yells into the empty night. “Couldn’ even killam’self the fir’ time!”

“Castiel Novak, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. The way you opened me up? How easy it was to tell you about Somalia that night? How you helped me figure out how to laugh again? How, for the first time since my mom died – hell, since before my mom died – the weight on my shoulders was lifted. By you, Cas. I’m so fucking in love with you! Please don’t do this. Don’t do this to me. You’re the best thing to ever happen in my life, and I can’t lose you. Please.” I suck in a breathy gasp and heave a sob, but force myself to keep talking. “You make me feel _alive_. Remember? We make each other feel alive. We’re gonna be happy. _Together_. We run _together_. Always. Remember?”

“Dean, I can’t – I can’t – I can’t,” he falls forward, landing on his hands and knees. I launch the final few feet and grab his hands, taking the chance to pull him away from the edge, at the same time thanking god that he fell forward instead of back. He wraps around me and continues to sob into my neck, “I can’t – I can’t ‘member, Dean. I can’t!”

“Can’t remember what, baby?” I ask softly, cradling his head and beginning to rock. The adrenaline pumping through my body is draining, leaving behind a euphoric relief.

He’s safe. He’s safe. I have him. He’s safe.

_Thank fuck he’s safe. _

“Can’ ‘member what ‘s like. Can’ – feels like I’ll never be happy ‘gain.”

“Oh, baby. You will be. I swear it. This is just a bad day. We have those. Everyone has those. This is just a really bad one for you, okay? But I’m right here and I love you and I’ve got you and you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

He’s shaking violently. I keep him firmly in one arm, making damn sure he wouldn’t be able to break free, and begin taking off my jacket. Once it’s off, I wrap it around him tight and enclose him in my arms to the point where I may be suffocating him.

We sit together like this for a long time. Long enough for Gabriel to show up. He stays by the door, giving us space as he sits with his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on them.

At some point, Castiel whispers, “Dean?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t make me go to the hospital. Please. I’ll do anything. I promise I’ll be good. But I just want you. They – I’m alone there. I need you too much. Please.”

“Okay. Shh, it’s okay. You’re alright.” I kiss the top of his head. “That’s fine. You’re gonna be fine. I’m not going anywhere. The doctors and whoever else needs to come can come to us, okay?”

He hugs me tighter, nodding against my chest. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“Shhhh.”

“’M messed it all up. Everythin’ up. The things I said-”

“Shhh, baby. Not now. That’s nothing we need to talk about now.” I start to rock him again. “And I promise you, Cas. You didn’t mess anything up. Nothing’s going to change, okay? Once you’re feeling better, everything will work itself out.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

I smile against his hair and nod. “Yeah, Cas. I promise.”

Within seconds, he’s asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Dean**

I lay beside Castiel in the hotel bed all night. Watching. Studying. Holding my breath. When the sun comes up, I roll off the mattress and hurry to close the thick curtains. The doctor said to let Castiel sleep as much as he needs. No sunrise is ruining that.

Planning to crawl back into bed and hold my boyfriend for as long as possible, I sneak into the bathroom first to empty my bladder. It only takes about thirty seconds, but when I come out of the bathroom and head to the bed, I find that Castiel has sprawled out like a starfish on his stomach. I can’t help but laugh softly. Castiel was always a bit of a bed hog – and definitely a blanket hog – and it’s kind of nice to see that he hasn’t changed in that department.

Hopefully it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same, because I’ve been terrified that Castiel is going to wake up regretting me. Regretting us.

Not wanting to bother Castiel by moving him, I just grab a chair and pull it up to the side of the bed. It dawns on me how familiar this is. Our first night ever spent together was spent like this. That turned out good. Maybe this will too.

I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands together. My legs bounce as I fight to stay still. I can’t stand sitting and waiting. I was never good at this part in the military. I always wanted to be actively fixing the situation. The doctor made it clear that that method isn’t possible with this.

What’s happening right now with Castiel is a waiting game.

I’m getting in some valuable practice.

The click from the hotel room door opening draws my attention away from Castiel’s peaceful body. I watch as Gabriel saunters in with a drink carrier and a small paper bag. Gabriel glances at Castiel before settling his eyes on me, his smile tight. I don’t even bother to return it, instead just accepting the offered coffee cup with a nod of my head in both a silent acknowledgment and thanks.

“Have you slept?” Gabriel whispers, pulling up another chair.

“Yeah. Of course.” I take a sip of my coffee, sucking in a breath through my teeth as it burns my tongue. “Just woke up a few minutes ago.”

Gabriel offers me the paper bag with a grunt. There are a few breakfast burritos inside, along with a to-go container of oatmeal, and fresh fruit. I take two burritos and hand it back.

We eat in silence, the two of us watching Castiel sleep. The boy doesn’t even move other than the soft rise and fall of his back as he breathes.

“Dean?”

I don’t look away from Castiel. “Yeah?”

“We’re all he’s got. I mean – don’t get me wrong, the band cares about him. Naomi, in her own strange way, cares about him. But me and you? We’re his family.” Gabriel pauses, waiting until I finally look at him. His expression is serious. “You and I are in this together.”

“Absolutely.”

Gabriel nods. “Great. Well, now that we agree about that, don’t lie to me. You didn’t sleep a wink last night, asshole.”

The straightforward accusation makes me choke on a laugh. I can see the family resemblance between Gabriel and Castiel at the moment. Between the two of them, I’m screwed.

“Fine.” I raise my coffee like a toast. “To honesty.”

Gabriel clinks his coffee against mine. “To honesty.”

I feel my smile fade as I look back at Castiel. With a deep sigh, I dive into my explanation. “When you come back from a deployment in the military, those first few weeks are really hard. Hell, that’s – that’s an understatement. They’re nearly impossible. You can barely breathe. It hasn’t sunk in yet that you’re home, ya know? You can’t figure out how to feel safe. Can’t go shopping or to a parade or any shit like that, because crowds make it easier for the enemy to blend in. Can’t drive over any potholes, because that’s where the IEDs are hidden. Can’t sleep, because whenever you got the chance to sleep over there was when shit usually hit the fan.”

After a quick glance at Gabriel, I continue. “I’ve been back for a while now. I still have issues sleeping sometimes, but other than that my triggers are pretty much gone. At least the day to day ones. But last night… I’ve never been more terrified. I can’t breathe. I can’t-” I pause, hanging my head and closing my eyes.

Gabriel finishes for me. “You can’t sleep.”

“No. I can’t.”

“See, I have this feeling that soldiers know better than that, Dean. You’re supposed to be rested and vigilant – at least as much as you can. So, sure, it may have been hard to sleep in war, and maybe that was when shit hit the fan, but you still slept. Because you had to. Am I right?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“You have to now too. What happens when he needs you, and you can barely function because you’re exhausted?”

“I know. I know. I just-” I look at Castiel, starting to bounce my legs again. “I feel like if I blink, I’ll lose him.”

“Sorry to say this, but that feeling doesn’t really go away. Sometimes I walk into his room holding my breath because I’m terrified that it will be the day I find him on the bathroom floor again. If you’re not ready for that, then you-” Castiel stirs, making Gabriel pause and me freeze.

The two of us continue to stare for a few more seconds before deciding that Castiel isn’t awake, just moving in his sleep. I don’t wait for Gabriel to finish what he was going to say before. I knows where he was headed. “I’m ready for this. I’m not walking away.”

“Good,” Gabe says with a smile. “Then get in the bed and sleep. I’ll take a turn watching over him.”

I nod, agreeing to do it. Not because it’s what’s best for me, but because Gabriel is right. I can’t help anyone if I’m exhausted. For Castiel, I will sleep.

Or, at least, I’ll try.

** Castiel **

“-no fucking way he’s going back on tour! Do you-” the voice is too loud, practically a scream, so I roll over and pull a pillow over my head. With the words muffled, I’m able to fall back asleep.

\----

Something too heavy is on my body. I squirm until it falls away.

“You okay, baby?” someone whispers softly. I’m not sure what’s going on, and I absolutely do not care, but I know one thing: I’m not okay. So, I mumble, “No,” and let myself fall back asleep.

\----

“-eaten a thing.”

“It’s been two days since-”

“-at least drank some water-”

\----

“Dean said-”

“The medicine might make him-”

I release a deep sigh and the room falls silent. I clench my hands around the corners of my pillows, fighting the urge to sob. It’s progress, right? This is the first time I’ve felt anything other than empty. It sucks that what I’m feeling is overwhelming grief, sure, but whatever.

At least the sigh shut people up, allowing me to drift into a dream where everyone is smiling again.

Even me.

\----

“Cas? Can you wake up for me?”

I squeeze my eyes shut to the point where it hurts.

“Baby, please. _Please_ wake up for me.”

The desperation in Dean’s voice breaks my heart. I take a deep breath to steady myself before carefully squinting one eye open. It’s pitch black in the hotel room, which isn’t what I was expecting. It’s a relief. Enough so that I open my eyes fully and look at my boyfriend – no, Dean – for the first time in who knows how long. Since the roof, if I’m remembering right. Whenever that was.

Dean gives me a careful smile. “There you are. I’ve been missin’ you.”

That makes me close my eyes again.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I – forget I said that, okay? Stay awake, Cas. Please stay awake.” I open my eyes but say nothing. It must be good enough for Dean, because the relief on his face is evident. “I need you to try to eat something, and you – you need to take your pills.”

The pills. I remember being forced-fed those a few times since the rooftop. Well, force-fed isn’t accurate. I was too tired and empty, unable to care enough to fight them. It was more of just a slight grumbling under my breath and turning my face away to show my displeasure, keeping my eyes closed as I swallowed the pills with a sip of water before collapsing back onto the bed and falling asleep.

I haven’t been force-fed yet, but I knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time. I don’t have the energy to fight Dean on the matter right now, but I also don’t have the energy to speak either, so I just remain quiet, keeping my eyes open. Dean must understand that this is permission because he practically dives for a banana and begins peeling it. His hands tremble with each movement. If I could remember how to talk, I’d tell Dean it’s okay. That he can’t mess up a banana. That I won’t go running and screaming to the roof, jumping off because the banana wasn’t peeled like I wanted it to be.

But words have stopped coming to me. Maybe they managed to jump off the roof that night.

The thought almost makes me laugh.

Almost.

I let Dean feed me the entire banana, only because it makes him look like a kid on Christmas with each bite I take. When I’m offered the pills and water, I accept them without a fuss. This is the first time I’ve done so much since the rooftop. Honestly, all I’ve done since the break down is shift in bed, sleep, stumble to the bathroom, and swallow pills and water whenever they’re put near my mouth.

Oh. And breathe.

I have been breathing.

Still breathing.

Don’t ask me how I feel about that. I don’t know.

\----

I speak for the first time three days after the rooftop incident. That’s what it’s being called – The Rooftop Incident. By the press. The media. My team. The band. Naomi. Everyone but Dean and Gabriel.

It’s just after Dean convinces me to eat some breakfast – a slice of toast, a cup of mixed fruit, and a full bottle of water. I’ve been awake a few hours, which is a lot for me these days, and Dean just excused himself to take a quick shower. I think maybe Dean could sense that I needed some space. Now that I’m awake more, the constant hovering of my brother and my boy- _Dean_ – is becoming too much.

The second I hear the water turning on, I grab the remote. I’m flipping through the channels, desperate to put something on that might actually make me want to stay awake for the day, when I stumble upon it.

E!News.

** _Castiel Novak: Mental Breakdown Situational or Chemical?_ **

When Dean walks back into the room, a pair of sweatpants hanging loosely from his waist, he stops short. “Oh, Cas. Don’t-”

“What do they know?” is all I ask, cutting Dean off.

He stares at me in shock, the sound of my voice unfamiliar to the both of us. When he snaps out of it, he glances at the TV, then looks back at me with a grimace. “Nothing, really. Your team is handling it.”

_Handling it. _

I scoff before turning off the TV and throwing the remote to the side. I have no interest in being awake anymore. I’ll try again later.

\----

When I stir awake, I find myself pressed against a bare chest, strong arms wrapped around me. I allow myself a moment to just breathe Dean in. The worst thing to come out of this latest episode isn’t the tour ending, the public gossiping, or my career suffering. It’s losing Dean.

Every time I remember that Dean is going to leave soon, probably whenever he thinks I’m stable enough, I have to fight the urge to uncontrollably sob.

Taking a chance, I pull away from Dean just enough to look at him. The TV is still on with the volume low, Dean must have fallen asleep watching the football game, and it provides just enough light for me to be able to appreciate my view. I rest a hand over Dean’s ribcage where one of my favorite tattoos can be found. It’s all gray scale, a grim reaper with the tattered American flag being used as its cloak. A ragged scar runs through the ripped fabric, nearly blending in. In script writing below the reaper are the words _Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of hell._ The words are hauntingly familiar.

A hand covers mine, Dean’s calloused thumb skimming over the back of it. I get the urge to talk, so I do. “I know this from somewhere.”

Dean clears his throat before whispering, “Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death, Rode the six hundred. ‘Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!’ he said. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.”

“Mmmm.” I smile, the poem returning to me now. “The Charge of the Light Brigade. Remind me again who wrote that?”

“Tennyson.”

Dean shifts his hand, and I take the opportunity to run a finger along the scar in the reaper’s cloak. “What happened here?”

“Knife.”

“Knife. That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

Laughing softly, Dean looks down at the scar that I’m still tracing. “Fire fight turned into a bit more of a close combat situation. We went from thinking our route was clear to about thirty guys coming at us from all directions. Some fucker took me by surprise, and we ended up on the ground together. He got a good stab in. Not a huge deal.”

“Not a huge deal,” I whisper in a huff. “You were stabbed. Like, with a knife.”

“I survived.”

“Thank God.” I feel my face flush because I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Swallowing around a lump, I force the conversation past the sappy moment. “How’d you fight him?”

“Cas, we don’t need to talk about that.” Dean takes my hand away from the scar and kisses my fingertips. Each one. “How’re you feeling?”

I glare at him. “Tell me how you fought him, and I’ll tell you how I’m feeling.”

He chuckles. “Well, good to know you’re back to your usual stubbornness.”

“Yup.”

“Fine.” His smile slips and his eyes dart away from me. “He had to be pretty damn close to stab me. Close enough for me to wrap my hands around his throat. It was a battle of who finished first. He was trying to get the power to shove the knife in deeper, searching for an organ, and I was trying to choke him out before he could.”

“You won.”

“Sure did.” Dean winks at me, his smile still a little distant. “Your turn.”

Knowing this time was coming eventually, part of me wants to lie. To put it off a little longer. That’s not fair to Dean, though. I’ve already put him through enough.

I take a final deep breath before admitting, “A little better, I think. You can go now. I’ll just hangout with Gabe until I’m back on my feet.”

“Go where?”

“I dunno. Wherever. Home. A new contract.” My gut twists. “Are you gonna – I mean, do you plan on taking one of those dangerous jobs?”

Dean sits up, keeping his arms around me. This makes it so that I’m pulled into his lap. I go willingly. This might be the last time I get to be like this with the man I love. I’m going to hold on for dear life.

Cupping the side of my face with a warm hand, Dean whispers, “I’m not going anywhere, Cas. I told you that.”

“Well, yeah, but that was just to get me off the roof and get me feeling better.” My voice wavers, lingering on the edge of a sob.

“Cas, that’s not true.” When I turn my face away, Dean uses his grip to force it back. He locks onto my eyes and holds me in place with the heat of his gaze. “If I didn’t want to be with you anymore, I wouldn’t. I’d have made you go in the hospital – the cops made it clear we could have. Or I’d have turned you over to Gabe. This isn’t my job, because you fired me, and this isn’t because I feel responsible for you. This is because I love you, and I take care of the people I love. Just like you take care of me when I need it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You – you’re not gonna leave me?”

Dean smiles. “God, no. You’re stuck with me.”

With a final exhale, I lets myself fall apart. All of the pent-up emotions that my body had been numbing the past few days bubble out of me, making me sob and shake and cling to Dean. Dean never lets go of me. We must sit there for hours, but Dean never lets go.

For the first time since the roof, I feel like maybe everything will be okay after all.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three songs in this chapter (Breaking Down, Paranoid, Let Me Be Sad) are all by I Prevail. You can find them on youtube or on my spotify playlist!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZkI3ASz8Lg
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUwB49ldyIQ
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ju4H6fT-1Q
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10khFWbR12AXhX4HjqqSlw

**Dean**

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Castiel to go back to Kansas with me. My family owns a cabin nestled on a lake, the only thing within miles in every direction being trees and water, and we both agree that’s exactly what Castiel needs right now. Space to breathe. To figure out who he is and what he wants. To just _be_.

On the first day, I teach Castiel how to chop wood, getting quite the kick out of the mess Castiel makes of the logs with his axe. “It’s like shrapnel,” I tease.

“Sorry.” Castiel looks at the shards of wood everywhere, wincing. “Did I ruin it?”

“Nah. Wood is wood. It’ll burn fine.”

“Should I… try again?”

I smirk, stepping back dramatically as if I’m removing myself from a dangerous situation. I cross my arms over my chest and enjoy my view. Castiel looks absolutely adorable dressed in my too-large flannel, the sleeves rolled and the shirt tails hanging almost to his knees. The plastic safety goggles over his eyes are dusty and old – they’re what I used when I was younger, before I could chop wood without hurting myself. Upon further inspection, I see that there are flecks of wood in Castiel’s curls.

How does that even happen?

Castiel looks over at me with bright red cheeks, dropping the axe. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you! I didn’t say a thing.”

“That look is enough.” Castiel pouts, but it doesn’t last long. He’s been having a hard time not smiling today. I’m not sure if it’s because we’re together, or because Castiel is finally out of the spotlight, or because of something else entirely. I’m too afraid to ask, not wanting to make that smile disappear.

Castiel kicks a piece of wood with his toe and grumbles, “Are we done? Is this enough?”

I need to bite back a laugh. We’ve chopped two logs. That’s not even enough for the heater tonight. It’s enough to at least start a fire, though, and with the sun going down I think a good cuddle beside a bonfire might do us both some good. There’s extra wood in the shed anyway. I had just wanted to teach Castel how to do this in order to get his mind on something other than the past week.

“How about a fire?” I offer, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him away from the wreckage. “You go inside and grab the stuff we bought for s’mores, and that big flannel blanket on the couch. I’ll light it.”

“I could try to light it!”

“Uh… you could. Yes.” I wait for Castiel to say he’s joking, but the young man looks both determined and excited. It’s not like we’ll die if Castiel can’t light the fire. I might as well let him try. “Okay. There’s a bag of newspaper in the shed. You’ll want to build a tee-pee structure out of the wood and stuff newspaper in the cracks of it. Maybe add some dry pine woods and small sticks too. Should light pretty easy. It hasn’t rained up here in a while.”

Castiel’s blue eyes are wide, but he doesn’t change his mind. He gives me an awkward thumbs up and hurries off. I’m not sure if I should go inside. This might be more entertaining than the chopping of wood. That said, I don’t want to make Castiel nervous or embarrassed, so I leave him be.

By the time I make it back outside – equipped with an extra-large thermos of hot chocolate, the flannel blanket that Bobby swears could get anyone through the winter, and the supplies for s’mores – the fire is actually lit. Castiel is sitting on one of the massive logs that are laid out to offer seating around the pit, looking at the flames as they swell. When he senses me standing there, he turns to me with a wide smile on his face. He’s like a proud kindergartner showing his parents the art they just finished.

It makes my heart skip.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper to him, unable to stop myself.

Castiel goes from excited to flustered quickly. He looks back at the fire and mumbles a small, “Thanks.”

“Any time.” I sit beside him, making sure we’re pressed close together. Once the large blanket is wrapped around our backs and shoulders, Castiel reaches for the thermos of hot chocolate, opening the lid and peeking inside. He hums in appreciation when he figures out what it is. His happiness only grows when he finds the s’mores ingredients. I chuckle softly as I watch Castiel pop a marshmallow into his mouth. “You’re a goof.”

Mid-chew, Castiel says, “But you love me.”

I feel a peace wash over me. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

In case I wasn’t sure things were getting better for Castiel, I’m positive an hour later when Castiel kisses my cheek and says he’ll be right back. I nearly cry in relief when Castiel walks back out holding his acoustic guitar. It’s the same one he played in the hotel room that night we spent together.

We shift where we’re sitting so that Castiel is able to play while we’re still wrapped up together. For a few minutes, Castiel just strums absentmindedly. He starts to settle on a tune, repeating it over and over, making little tweaks to it as he plays. After he plays the same thing four or five times in a row, he begins to sing. It’s choppy. A word here or there. Sometimes he’ll suddenly stop, shake his head, then start over. Sometimes he’ll play the same two notes over and over, trying different words each time.

He’s writing a song.

I stay quiet, forcing myself to keep my excitement down. I can’t stop my smile, though. My smile is so huge it hurts my cheeks. If it bothers Castiel, he doesn’t show it.

We sit on that log for most of the night. Castiel writes his song, only stopping for the occasional sip of hot chocolate or bite of a s’more I make him. It’s finished around five in the morning. We both get a little teary eyed when Castiel plays it for the first time start to finish.

After that, I can’t get Castiel inside fast enough. The guitar gets discarded on the kitchen table, the blanket falls on the floor of the hallway, and our clothes are off before I’m kicking the bedroom door shut. I lay Castiel out on the bed and stare down at him like he’s a damn work of art.

Because he is.

“Is this when you say something cheesy about playing me like a guitar?” Castiel teases.

I laugh softly, laying my body on top of Castiel and letting our cocks slide together. I wait for Castiel to protest, to try to take over the situation, but he doesn’t. He just looks up at me with those big, blue, trusting eyes.

“I love you, Cas,” I whisper as I reach into the bedside table to grab lube.

“I love you, too.” Castiel parts his legs, beckoning me forward. My hands shake as I lube my cock up, making me feel like a damn teenager again. Something about this feels so different.

It feels important.

Monumental. 

Then finally – _finally_ – I’m entering him. A tear slips down Castiel’s cheek as we kiss each other. I catch it with my thumb as I feel my heart sink. Before I can ask him what’s wrong, though, he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the moisture from my skin.

“It’s not a sad tear,” Castiel whispers. “It’s happy. So happy.”

“Good. Happy is good.” I rest my forehead against Castiel’s, breathing in the salty smell of my boyfriend’s happiness in relief. “I like you happy.”

“Yeah.” Castiel smiles. “I like it too.”

  
  
  


**Castiel**

I wake up one morning to an empty bed. There’s an envelope on the pillow where Dean should be, my name scrawled across it in blue pen. After glancing around to see he’s nowhere in sight, I take the envelope and carefully remove the folded paper inside of it. Two things fall out as I open the letter, landing in my lap. I pick them up to look at them first. They’re airplane tickets. First class. To Sydney Australia.

With a tentative smile, I turn my attention to the letter.

_Figured we could start our tour of rooftop pools with your current favorite. _

_Can’t wait to see the view. _

_Let’s go run together. _  


_Always,_

_Dean._

\----

After seventeen rooftop pools, my album is finished. We go home then, where Naomi found the band a new label to record for. The label is thrilled about the whole album concept, as well as the idea of representing a band that wants to put out the message we have. As the band records the album, the label works with Naomi, Dean, and my therapist to carve out a tour schedule that’s more relaxed and breathable. I sit down with them one night and pick out a few choice talk shows to appear on before the album and tickets go on sale, only willing to go on shows I know will support what the album is about.

There are three appearances planned. Each host wants a different song from me. I choose _Breaking Down, Paranoid,_ and _Let Me Be Sad_. I talk openly about my past and my mental health. When I sing _Breaking Down_, I discuss my suicide attempt, as well as my break down during my previous tour. When I sing _Paranoid_, I address the struggle of living with a bipolar diagnosis, as well as the fear that comes with not knowing if your mind is truly your own at any given time. When I sing _Let Me Be Sad_, I talk about the terrifying emptiness of depression, as well as the importance of my support system letting me not be okay instead of forcing me to wear a smile and pretend.

Through it all, every word, every lyric, every smile, every tear, I make it clear this is for the fans. The album, the songs, the soul I’m bearing – it’s all for them. Part of the proceeds from both the album and the tour are going to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, because it’s important to me that those out there that aren’t as lucky as I am to have the support system I do – a place I’ve found myself in before, as I make sure to freely point out – have a place to turn to when they feel like I’ve felt.

I open every concert on tour with _Lifelines_, closing each with _Breaking Down_, and singing _Scars_ for an encore. It feels right to do it that way. Like I’m telling my story to them. And, as it should be, my story ends with Dean. With our battle cry. Always.

Tonight, I step up to the mic, quieting the crowd from their rhythm chant of “Encore, Encore, Encore!”

The band begins to play as I open my mouth and pour lyrics out. The crowd screams the lyrics with me, despite the album only coming out a few weeks ago. I grin at the sound of them, raising my voice as a new surge of adrenaline pumps through my veins.

It isn’t until the final section of instrumentals that I let myself glance off stage, finding Dean where he stands every single night. Right at the edge of the stage. He’s wearing one of my shirts tonight – the Fuck or Die shirt, which I may or may not have thrown at him to wear after making a dirty promise for what’s to come later – beneath one of his faded flannels. A bottle of water I know is meant for me is held in his hand. His knee twitches along with the beat of the music.

Our eyes lock and his lips curve into the sexiest smile. He put his official notice in at Benny’s company the day my tour started, becoming my full-time head of security. When I asked him if he thought he’d regret it one day, giving up his dream of helping other people to tag along with me instead, he had laughed and told me his dream changed. Now it’s me. And he’s not walking away from that.

I turn back to the fans and sing the final lines of the song as the instruments fade out.

_I feel it in my heart_

_When it all turns to dark_

_Try to tear us apart_

_But know that we’ll wear our scars. _  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading my story <3 I appreciate any comments/kudos! & make sure to follow me on tumblr @ destiel-love-forever to see more of my work (:
> 
> Another thank you to Aggiedoll for being AMAZING to work with <3 If you haven't checked her art out yet, please do! (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162509?fbclid=IwAR2-3gD-GQxuhoWzak00nHL1Ug1kMu3eP-VUG3wo714kel6I6VZP0uBZ_XU)

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to follow me on tumblr @ destiel-love-forever for more of my stuff!!


End file.
